The End
by Enthusiastic Fish
Summary: Sequel to Neverending. Tim is still determined to understand why his friends were killed on the plane. When he figures it out, he's faced with a difficult decision...and another person ready to kill him. One chapter per day.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:** This is the sequel to a story I wrote two years ago called _Neverending_. It kind of didn't end (as per the title) and I'd always planned on getting the story finished...which is what this is. Basic summary of _Neverending_: Tim is in a plane crash in which a number of other people are killed and then gets obsessed with trying to figure out what happened and why.

**Disclaimer:** I do not own the characters of NCIS and I don't own NCIS. ...and no matter how much I'd like to, I'm not making money off this story. I just enjoy doing it. :)

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><p><strong>The End<br>**by Enthusiastic Fish

**Chapter 1**

_The door burst open, sending a hail of bullets through the cabin. People dropped right and left, letting out high-pitched shrieks of pain, the roaring of the plane growing louder and louder as the man got closer to his hiding place. His face seemed to fill all the available space and yet still, he could see Johnson screaming in agony, jerking right and left as bullets riddled her body. The man pressed closer and closer, his face leering as he raised his gun, firing again and again into his side..._

Tim sat up, breathing quickly, dripping with sweat, hand unconsciously moving to his hip, massaging the area that still, even a year after being caught in that plane crash, kept him from doing what he wanted, what he _needed_ to do. As Nathan had promised he would, Tim _had_ improved as time progressed, but he wasn't ready. His leg was too weak; he was too uncertain. It wasn't strong enough...no matter _what_ Nathan said about it.

...and the nightmares _weren't_ going away, no matter how often the shrink said they would fade. Here it was...five in the morning and Tim knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that he wouldn't calm down enough to fall asleep again, not until it was time to get up anyway. With a sigh, he thought about his job, a job that didn't really seem to be his, not yet, maybe not ever. He was still on desk duty. How could he possibly go back to it fully until he was confident that he wouldn't fail Gibbs and Tony and Ziva, especially when their lives might depend on his prowess?

Gibbs had suggested, more than once, that Tim was ready. ...but he was wrong. Tony and Ziva occasionally asked when he was going to be off the medically-ordered desk duty because he seemed fine to them. ...but they were wrong, too. Tim knew he wasn't ready. He knew that putting himself out in the field again would put everyone at risk...and he had told Vance as much. Vance trusted his judgment...mostly. That meant that he didn't question Tim when he had said that he needed more time. His shrink wasn't exactly pushing him along, but she had intimated...more than once...that he might be holding himself back without cause.

However, none of them were Timothy McGee. None of _them_ woke up nearly every morning from nightmares. None of _them_ had rows of stitches across their pelvises from being shot and then in a plane crash. None of _them_ took a step and feared that this time their bodies really would collapse. ...and none of _them_ labored every day under the pressure of an open case, one that could possibly be neverending...or else could end with their deaths.

With a sigh...and a moment's hesitation...Tim stood up and walked out to his computer. Since he was awake so early, he figured he might as well see what he could see...although at this point, he rather doubted he'd see something new in a file he had nearly memorized. Still, he looked at the information. He had asked Fornell...many times...why his testimony was absent from the file. Fornell had no answer, and although he had promised to look into it, there was nothing to explain it still. He claimed that he had told them about the oversight and yet they didn't change their positions. The official FBI ruling was that it was the work of a lone gunman...for lack of a better term. Even though he had nothing to back him up, he didn't understand how they could believe that when it was so patently untrue. It didn't explain how the man (who still had no identity) could get past airport security, how he could get a hold of an ID so convincing that it passed him even onto the FBI plane. It didn't explain why he tried to kill all the geeks in the cabin when he could have accomplished the same thing by simply crashing the plane. How could he have thought that he could get out of it alive? None of it made sense with the explanation put forth by that agency. NCIS had not officially closed it, but no one was working on it. ...well, no one besides Tim.

With another sigh, Tim closed out the file. There was nothing to see there. He knew it. He knew that he wasn't going to make any sort of a breakthrough by looking at it. He had known that for weeks. Gibbs and Fornell both had been right about this determination leading to a possible obsession. Tim knew he was flirting with that label, although he'd done his best to keep that from happening.

Jethro came trotting over to him as he sat morosely staring at the floor. He nuzzled him and licked his face. Tim smiled.

"Good morning, Jethro. Need to do your morning business? I'm good with that. It's early, though. You want to eat first?"

Jethro made his preferences plain...by picking up his leash and drooling on it as he tried to pant and hold onto it at the same time. Tim laughed.

"Okay. Let me get dressed first."

Jethro danced around eagerly, forcing Tim to speed up out of a worry that his dog might just get excited enough to forget that he was house trained. When he came out of his bedroom, Jethro was sitting beside his dish, panting.

"So...you want to eat?" Tim asked, amused.

Jethor barked at him a few times. Tim shook his head and got out some food and refilled the water dish. He knelt beside the German shepherd as he ate and drank. He didn't finish his breakfast...which Tim had expected. This was just an appetizer which would only make him that much more excited to eat when they got back.

"Are you ready now?" he asked.

As if there had been no pause in his desire to go outside, Jethro ran to the door and barked softly, thankfully. Tim knew that he sometimes forgot about the thin walls when he was in his apartment. Jethro seemed more aware than _he_ was sometimes. Tim clipped the leash to Jethro's collar and allowed himself to be dragged out of the apartment, down the stairs and out to the street. After satisfying the most pressing need, Jethro set a slower pace, one that was well-suited to his master's current physical ability. Tim was easily able to keep up and after a few minutes, they reached their favorite park. Tim let Jethro off the leash and watched as he ran after the roosting pigeons and then, once they were in flight, barked at them madly. Occasionally, he would run back to Tim, expecting praise for the amazing work he was doing in driving away the pesky birds. Then, he was off again, running around. Tim laughed with near delight as his dog acted like life was normal.

"Jethro! Time to go!" he called a few minutes later.

Jethro took a circuitous route to get back to Tim, but at least he came. Some days, it took at least ten minutes to get his dog calm enough to return to the leash.

As they headed back, Tim thought about the upcoming day. He had work in the morning, rehab in the afternoon, work in the evening...oh, and today was the day that his physical therapy and his mental therapy coincided. He hated days like this.

"This is going to be a long day, Jethro. I wish it was already over."

Jethro panted but made no other indication that he was listening. He seemed content to take a slow pace all the way back to the apartment. Tim's leg was feeling tired as they reached the last few stairs.

"Jethro, you want to carry me up?"

Jethro pulled on the leash, wanting to get back into the apartment to finish eating his food.

"All right. All right." Tim climbed the last few stairs, walked down the hall to his front door. It was ajar. He stopped and Jethro growled.

The door behind him opened and one of his neighbors came out.

"Morning, Tim! You're up early," Melanie said, cheerfully.

"Melanie," Tim said, swallowing nervously, "You need to get out of the building. Pull the alarm as you go. Call the police."

"What?"

"Please, just do it."

Jethro's growls increased and he pulled at his leash toward Tim's door.

"What's going on?" Melanie asked, now sounding worried.

"You need to go," Tim said. He looked back over his shoulder at her. "Go!"

Melanie nodded and ran. Tim heard the fire alarm go off and felt as though he couldn't move. Jethro was wanting to go in which told Tim whoever had opened his door was probably still in there. He didn't know what to do. He didn't have his weapon. He wasn't armed. He couldn't even hold a hope of subduing whoever it was. There was no way he was going to let Jethro go. If the guy had a gun, his dog could die and he didn't want that.

Tim was afraid. He felt...helpless, standing there, staring at his open door. Then, he heard footsteps running toward the door. He looked back and forth, trying to find a place to hide, a place to run...but there was nowhere to go. The door was pulled open and a man came out. He stopped, surprised at Tim's presence. Tim could see it in his eyes. Then, he smiled and raised a gun.

_That's my gun,_ Tim thought, his eyes drawn right to it. Then, Jethro growled loudly, pulled forward, the leash slipping out of Tim's hand as he leapt at the man threatening his master. The gun went off and then the man turned and ran, pursued by Jethro. Tim felt his leg trembling...actually, _both_ his legs were trembling. He didn't know what to do.

"J-Jethro," he called, weakly.

He took a step toward his dog who was barking angrily out the window...but before he took more than that, there was an explosion from his open door which threw him onto his back.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

Tim's first thought upon waking, besides the fact that he really hoped it was Jethro licking his face and not someone else, was that he'd probably fractured his pelvis again. If so, he would find his gun and just shoot himself to get the slow steady destruction of his body over with.

His second thought was that it was really hot.

His third thought was that it might be a good idea to open his eyes and figure out what was going on.

His fourth thought was that, based on the whining sound in his ear, Jethro must be the one licking him...and he was relieved.

Then, he decided that he really should open his eyes.

"J-Jethro," he coughed.

The whining sound increased and he opened his eyes, seeing billowing smoke above his head. He was afraid to move, afraid to know that he was again broken.

A wet nose nuzzled his face.

Tim turned his head and saw his dog right beside him, although he seemed a lot darker than his usual black and brown.

"Jethro," he said again.

"Anyone there?"

Tim heard the voice and wondered if he should answer. He wasn't really sure. It wasn't that bad laying on the floor, although it _was_ a little too hot. Jethro made the decision for him and barked, high-pitched...a sound Tim recognized as his anxious bark.

"Hello?"

Tim figured that there was no harm in being polite.

"Hi."

"Sir?"

"That's me."

"Are you all right?"

"I'm...a little hot." A statement which was totally insufficient to explain his current predicament.

He felt vibrations on the floor as someone...a male someone approached.

"Back here!" he shouted. "Where are you hurt, sir?"

"Who knows?" Tim said, glad that he didn't actually know. "I'm feeling a little loopy, though."

Jethro nudged his face, trying to get him to move.

"Okay. I'm going to pull you back. Is that all right?"

"Sure. Go ahead...but if I've broken another bone, just shoot me and get it over with."

Strong hands moved under his shoulders, wrapped around his chest and pulled Tim back away from the heat. It didn't hurt as much as he had expected it to.

"Maybe I didn't break my pelvis again. How nice," Tim said vaguely.

"Hey, can you give me a hand here? I'm not sure he can get up."

Tim's eyes moved off of...whatever he'd been looking at and traveled up to the face of the person he assumed was his rescuer.

"Should I be getting up? I can try."

"No, just stay where you are."

Another face loomed over him.

"Hi," he said and then a thought dawned on him. "I think someone was trying to kill me."

Neither man replied, but they picked him up and carried him out of the building, away from the heat he could feel. Tim had an idea that he should probably be worried, but at the moment, he felt just a little out of it and all he wanted was to lay back and not worry at all. It was pretty easy. A part of him knew that he'd be feeling both more pain and more fear later on. Right now, however, it was rather nice to embrace the dizziness which kept his brain from fully engaging with the world.

They set him gently on the grass. A breeze brushed lightly over his face. He was outside. That was nice.

"Jethro?" Tim called, suddenly remembering that he had a dog.

"Who's Jethro?"

"My dog. He was right here." Tim tried to sit up, in spite of his spinning head. "Jethro?"

A wet nose nudged his cheek.

"Here he is. Just stay down, sir. The police should be here soon."

"Oh, my gosh! Is he all right? Tim? You okay?"

Tim heard the anxious voice and belatedly identified it as that of Melanie, his neighbor. He tried to sit up again. He didn't like the ignominious feeling of laying flat on his back when things were going so badly...but the insistent men who had pulled him out of the hallway kept pushing him back down.

"I can sit," he protested.

"No. Just stay still."

"Melanie?" Tim asked.

Her face loomed over him.

"Hey...is the whole building on fire?"

Her face looked away.

"Not all...not yet."

"I hope your apartment survives."

"Me, too."

Sirens from multiple locations could be heard as the emergency vehicles approached. They grew louder and then stopped abruptly. Tim had the sense that there were lots more people running around than had been before. Suddenly, there were paramedics hovering over him, trying to get his attention...a difficult task.

"Can I sit up, please?" he asked, once his eyes were focused on them.

"Wait a moment, sir."

Hands felt his neck, his arms, various and sundry body parts to check for injury.

"I broke my pelvis once, you know," he said, conversationally. "If I broke it again, you can put me back in the building."

"Does it hurt?"

"Not really, but bad things seem to happen when it doesn't hurt as bad."

"I don't think it's broken, but we'll check it out at the hospital."

That seemed logical to Tim, even in his dazed state.

"Okay. Has the building burned down? I saw the smoke."

"No. The fire isn't that big...but big enough that we need to get you out of the way." The EMT moved out of his line of sight. "Okay, we're going to move you onto the stretcher now."

"Wait! My dog!"

"I'll take Jethro, Tim. Give him a bath...take him for his walk."

He couldn't see her, but he was grateful for Melanie's offer. He wondered if he'd remember it later on.

"Oh...I have to go to work. I'll be in trouble if I'm late...even if I'm useless." Tim analyzed what he had said and decided that it made sense at some level.

"Tim, you want me to call them?" Melanie asked, still nearby.

"Sure. Okay."

The paramedic leaned in. "Okay. Tim, can you tell me the phone number of the place where you work?"

Tim thought about it and was moderately surprised to find that he could remember it. He told Melanie the number and then finally allowed himself to be carted away. As they closed the doors, he wondered bemusedly what Gibbs would say...and whether Gibbs or Fornell would find out about the explosion first.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

The phone on Tim's desk began to ring.

"Oooh, should I answer it?" Tony asked, with malicious glee. He stood up and walked over to the ringing phone, his hand hovering over it.

"_You_ should not...but I will," Ziva said and snatched the receiver out from under his questing hand with a grin. "NCIS, Agent McGee's desk."

Tony tried to grab the phone from her, but she kept eluding him...and then, suddenly stopped and grabbed his arm, her expression moving from playful to serious.

"He is injured, you say?"

Tony stopped at her words and waited.

"Yes, we will pass on the message. Thank you for calling, ma'am...Melanie." She hung up the phone.

"Well?"

"McGee's apartment started on fire. He was taken to the hospital and his neighbor, Melanie, has Jethro."

"Is he all right?"

"Apparently, although she says he must have hit his head."

"On what?" Tony asked. "A charred computer?"

"She did not say...although I am sure we are not yet getting the whole story."

"Not if she couldn't say anything beyond the fact that Jethro is currently being cooed over by a woman and McGee is in the hospital," Tony observed, trying to suppress his own worry.

"What's McGee doing in the hospital?" Gibbs asked, appearing around the corner.

"Flirting?"

_Thwack!_

"Thanks, Boss."

"Melanie, the Probie's neighbor, said his apartment started on fire...but Officer David failed to ask any questions that might illuminate the issue further."

Ziva glared. "I was more worried about whether or not McGee was all right than the exact circumstances."

"...but you didn't ask about that either."

"She did not seem worried. That was enough for me. Why are you acting like a brood sow?"

"A what?"

_Thwack!_

_Thwack!_

"What hospital?" Gibbs growled.

"The Washington Adventist Hospital in Takoma Park."

Gibbs stalked to the elevator without another word...at least, until he looked back and saw Tony and Ziva following him.

"Where do you think you're going?"

"With you, Boss...to see McGee."

"You have work to do. I'll check on him and let you know. You can mother him _after_ work." Then, he continued to the elevator, leaving them behind.

"I hate being left behind," Ziva said.

Tony stared at the elevator for a few seconds; then, he turned and looked at Ziva.

"A brood sow."

"Yes."

"Which is?"

"A mother pig." She walked back to her desk.

"You're calling me a mother pig?"

"You are acting like one."

"How?"

"McGee is not seriously injured. You are behaving as though you must nurse him...back to health."

Tony nearly choked. "That was...disturbing. I think...I have work to do."

"Yes, you do. As do I."

They both fell silent...although it was questionable how much work they actually did. Their thoughts were elsewhere.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

_Twelve months earlier..._

"_We're making our final approach into LAX. Please, secure your seatbelts and remain seated until we've landed."_

"How many people will be at this thing, you think?" Johnson asked.

"I'm guessing hundreds," Davidson said. "It's the biggest conference for intelligence and counter-intelligence in North America."

"Nice of the FBI to give us all a ride," Keating commented. "I know NCIS doesn't have its own private plane. McGee and I would probably have been forced to hitchhike our way across the country."

"Do you know how many federal agents will be there?" Johnson asked. She was pretty new to the NSA and still excited about the prospect of hanging out with the more experienced geeks on the plane.

"More than us, if that's what you're wondering about," Larson said, a little morosely. "I don't know why _I_ was forced to come."

"You didn't want a free trip to California?" Keating asked in surprise.

"I would rather have had a vacation, not a conference."

"There'll be more than federal agents there," Tim said, reading the info Vance had given him. "This conference is attended by people from Fortune 500 companies...banks, companies like Microsoft. We'll be in good company, I think."

"Good company? With a bunch of other geeks? What are you expecting, McGee?" Larson asked, grumpily. "An MMORPG?"

Tim grinned. "It might be fun, but no, the conference itself should be interesting...and besides...I like geeks."

"What's to like?" Davidson asked. "We're pretty much all the same, just get our paychecks from different people."

"We're all different. We have different strengths. Besides, don't you get tired of having to think of explanations fit for two-year-olds when telling the field agents what to do?" Tim replied.

"Aren't _you_ a field agent, McGee?" Larson asked pointedly.

"Sure, but I'm the designated computer geek on my team...and believe me, my boss knows _nothing_ about computers. He has no appreciation for the work it takes to do my job well. I'm looking forward to having a chance to talk to people who _understand_ what I do and can help me do it better. I could have gone to a tech-free retreat with my family, but this seemed a lot more fun."

"You're nuts, McGee," Larson declared, but he gave a grudging smile.

"I'm a geek," Tim answered, good-naturedly. "Of course, I'm nuts."

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

_Present..._

The images swirled around making strange links.

_Smoke billowing up from nowhere, suffusing the entire cabin with soot..._

_Guns going off all around him, mowing down everyone..._

"_Stay down, Johnson!"_

_The empty face of the murderer..._

"Agent McGee!"

"No...no, stay down. No...Larson...no."

"Agent McGee, wake up!"

The images began to fade and Tim blinked his eyes a few times before they focused enough to realize that the shape hovering over him was a human being...and one he knew...somewhat.

"Agent Fornell," he whispered, feeling dazed.

"You were dreaming, kid."

Tim let the images flicker through his mind again and shook his head.

"If only that's all it was," he said, staring down at the blanket covering his legs.

"Yeah. How you feeling?"

"Okay. How did you find out?"

"I keep my ears open to trouble. I've been listening out for you."

"Figured I'd be the source of trouble?"

"At least the target of it."

"Well, you beat Gibbs here. I didn't think you would," Tim said, pushing away the horror of his distorted memories and smiling a little.

"Would what?"

Tim leaned over and saw Gibbs standing in the doorway, looking more than a little miffed that Fornell was already there.

"The kid thought his boss would make it to the hospital before the grizzled FBI agent. ...but since NCIS is always the last to know, I got here first."

"I had Melanie call...I think. I seem to remember asking her to do that. Did she?" Tim asked, trying to determine just which parts of his recent memories really happened and which parts were twisted remnants of his nightmares.

"Yeah, she did."

"Good. If I remember right, she also has Jethro?" Tim asked.

"Yes." Gibbs seemed more irritated than anything else. Tim wasn't sure why.

"So...what happened, McGee?" Fornell asked, settling on a chair beside the bed. He was acting concerned but also amused.

Tim tried to think about his recent past. There was a lot of fuzz in his head.

"There was...a fire," he said slowly.

"Yeah, got that already," Gibbs said and sat down as well.

"Give him a chance to think, Gibbs," Fornell said. "Kid apparently got a nice knock on his head."

"There was a man," Tim said before Gibbs could reply.

"What?"

"There was a man in my apartment. It wasn't a fire. It was... There was an explosion...from my apartment." Tim wasn't looking at either of them; so he didn't see their expressions change. "I stared at him. He had my gun and was going to shoot me with it, but Jethro got to him first. He ran out the fire escape." He began to shake a little with remembered fear. "I couldn't even move. I just stared at him. I felt so helpless." His eyes tracked back to his legs. "I can't tell. Did my pelvis fracture again? I really don't want to deal with that again. I..."

He broke off when Gibbs gave the side of his head a light tap.

"You were targeted?"

Tim nodded. "Unless he was going for Melanie and made a mistake, but I don't think that Melanie really makes that kind of enemies."

"You saw him?" Fornell asked.

"Yeah...although I was looking at my gun more than at him."

"He took your gun?"

"Yeah...unless he threw it away as he ran out. I don't know." Tim looked up. "Did I rebreak my pelvis, Boss?"

"Do you have any idea why?"

"Yes."

The swiftness of the response told Gibbs exactly what Tim's idea was.

"You think this is about the plane crash."

Tim, even in his current worn state, caught the skeptical tone.

"What else could it be, Boss?" Tim retorted. "How many people do you think want me dead? I'm telling you, this has to have to do with something about me, personally. That means the plane crash. That means that case. That means it. That means that I was right all along and no one believed me but Fornell!"

Tim's finger pointed vigorously at Fornell who gave a rather sheepish smile at Gibbs' expression.

"And what does Fornell know about all this?"

"He wanted–"

...but Fornell wasn't about to let a junior field agent at NCIS become his spokesman.

"I don't like how things were ended by my agency. I think there's more to it."

"And?" Gibbs' voice was dangerous.

"And I've been giving Agent McGee the information I had access to, with the intention of helping him figure out what was going on."

"You've been feeding info to _my_ agent while he was recovering from injuries incurred while on an FBI plane whose security was lax enough to create the current situation?"

"Boss!"

"Yes, I have, Gibbs. Apparently, I was the only one who noticed that your boy wasn't exactly happy with the party line either."

"Outside," Gibbs hissed.

"Boss!" Tim said. He was getting more and more awake (and more and more irritated) all the time. "Boss, I'm not a little kid. You don't have to hide the monsters in the closet from me!"

"McGee, shut up!"

That was enough. Tim sat up straight, ready to give Gibbs a piece of his mind...even if he never got it back again...but the door to his room opened, admitting a doctor.

"Ah, hello! We were just saying that someone should call Agent McGee's family. I'm glad you made it here."

Tim gave a look at Gibbs and Fornell and wondered how in the world those two men could ever possibly, in any sense of the word, be viewed as his family. Even a distant relation...but he figured there was no point in making the _lack_ of familial relationships present in the room explicit.

"So..." Tim said, ignoring the amused expression on Fornell's face. "What's happened?"

"Well, we've scheduled an x-ray just to be sure, but I have to say, Agent McGee, that I doubt there is any additional injury. Certainly, you should speak with your regular doctor and physical therapist about it, but our visual check revealed no new damage to your pelvis or hip joint. You did suffer from a rather serious concussion, however."

"Meaning?"

"Meaning that you should take it easy for the next few days and if you have _any_ signs of dizziness, feeling faint or sudden intense headaches, you should speak to your doctor right away. Otherwise, following the x ray, we'll release you and let you go home."

"Where? To my charred apartment?" Tim asked wryly, trying to hide his devastation at remembering just what state his apartment must be in at the moment...along with all his worldly possessions.

"Oh. I'm sorry," the doctor said, looking genuinely regretful at the inadvertent reminder. "Well, I'm sure your family can help you out."

"Yes, I'm sure they can," Tim answered, somehow managing to suppress the sarcasm.

"All right. I'll just check you over once and a nurse will be along in an hour or two."

The examination went quickly and then the doctor left. The room was supposed to be for two people, but at the moment, the other bed was unoccupied. Tim was glad because he hadn't forgotten his annoyance.

"Before you start, Boss, don't. Fornell offered to help me with something I'd be doing anyway. I told you already that I'm not going to stop, not until I figure out what happened. Now, I have evidence that says the plane crash involved someone else."

"Not necessarily."

"Will you please, for once, try to see this from _my_ perspective, Boss?" Tim shot back. "A man, for reasons unknown, killed the pilot of a plane carrying a bunch of geeks. He then proceeded to make every effort to kill the geeks and almost succeeded. He didn't have to kill us one at a time. He could have done it with one swift shot at the ground. Where would he have gone? If he had tried to divert from the flight path, Dulles would have known. If he had planned on getting out of this alive, then he must have had help. If not...well, then why not just crash the plane? So...I survive. I don't give up. I don't let the FBI's version be the end of things. I'm still asking questions and..."

"...of whom?"

"Anyone I can think of. Then, a year after the crash, I come home after an early morning jog to find a man has broken into my apartment. I'm totally helpless and if Jethro hadn't been there, I would have been shot by my own gun. If I hadn't had yet another nightmare, I wouldn't have been awake to leave my apartment. It was luck that I wasn't killed when whatever went off...went off. This wasn't an accident, Boss! This wasn't a mistake. This was someone trying to make a clean sweep of it. Why can't you see that?"

"McGee, you don't know that. It could have been a lot of different things."

"No more than I knew it wasn't finished a few months ago, Boss. You're the one who follows his gut...and it's always right. Why can't you trust that I might have some sort of instincts, too?"

Gibbs turned from Tim and glared at Fornell, jerking his head toward the door. Then, he looked back at Tim.

"You want me to call your family, McGee?"

"I think I can manage that myself, Boss," Tim said. "I might be hopeless, but I'm not completely helpless."

Gibbs didn't reply, but gestured for Fornell to walk out of the room ahead of him. Tim watched them go feeling angry, feeling irritated...

...and feeling helpless.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"Okay," Fornell said as they reached the relative seclusion of the hallway. "Get it out of your system. I'm ready."

Gibbs' fist clenched as though he was ready to punch Fornell out...but at the last minute thought the better of it. ...no doubt because he'd get immediate treatment if Gibbs punched him in a hospital.

"What right do you have to feed my agent data?"

"The same right I've had to feed _you_ information when you wanted it. You've demanded intel from me on more than one occasion as I recall...and I've given it to you."

"That was me...not McGee."

"The kid might be young but he's not helpless, Jethro...not even as helpless as _he_ thinks he is. He's got the skills to find whatever there is to find."

"And if there's nothing?"

"Then, it will be better if _he_ sees that there's nothing, rather than be told by people he doesn't trust that there's nothing."

"You saying he doesn't trust us?"

"I don't think he'll believe anyone but himself at this point."

"You fed his obsession."

"He didn't need my help."

"But you needed his."

Fornell shrugged and didn't deny it. "I happen to think your boy knows what he's doing and I happen to think that he's right. I can't keep investigating this. I'm on thin enough ice as it is. I do need his help...to solve a case...and I'll give him any help he asks for."

Gibbs might have most of NCIS cowed, but Fornell had never been cowed by him. ...after all, they'd both lived through a marriage to the same woman (although not at the same time, obviously). That kind of thing had a way of burning away any sort of lingering fears.

That meant that the glare Gibbs turned on him, which would have been death to a lesser mortal merely made Fornell stare back with a stubbornness that matched Gibbs' anger.

"If you want my advice–"

"I don't."

"You try to hold him back on this, Gibbs...you're going to lose him. Maybe in more ways than one...because he's right. This is about that plane crash. This is about something he must have found...even if he doesn't know it yet. You keep him back, prevent him from doing what he has to do, he'll leave...and there's nothing you can do about it."


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

_Twelve months earlier..._

"Come on, Larson. You know you have to come. Might as well look on it with a good attitude," Tim wheedled.

Larson glared at Tim and the other geeks who were arrayed behind him.

"You're really annoying, you know that?"

"Yeah. I've been told that...mostly by my younger sister when she knew I was right."

Larson glared again, but Tim responded with a winning grin. Johnson joined in the persuasion.

"James, you know you want to. Give in and behave like the geek we know you are." Her voice took on a robotic voice. "You are one of us. Join us, James!"

Larson groaned but with a bit of a smile. "Fine. Fine. Let me get my shoes on." He sighed. "This is going to be a waste of time you know. These conferences...they're boring and useless."

"Well, they will be if you think they will," Tim said. "Come on!"

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"Hey, McGee, I think we have a groupie," Keating said in Tim's ear.

Tim jumped a little. He hadn't realized Keating was so close to him.

"What?"

"Look over there by the door. See that guy skulking around?"

"The one in the thick-framed glasses?"

"No, the one behind him. He's been following us around ever since we got here."

Tim looked at him and then back at Keating. "You sure?"

"Yeah. Positive. I didn't think computer geeks had groupies."

Tim laughed but he looked again before following the others into the first panel. He hadn't been to many of these conferences but that seemed a little odd.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

_Present..._

Tim was released from the hospital the next morning and conducted home by a worried Abby who proceeded to tuck him into her coffin and tell him in no-uncertain terms that he needed to rest. He also had a visit from Tony who informed him that there were agents on guard outside to make sure that no one was after him. He also had a phone call from Ziva who asked how he was feeling. He also had a call from Melanie who asked him about his health, told him about the damage to the building (extensive, with his apartment being the worst, of course) and asked him about what she should do with Jethro and when he'd be by to see what had survived the fire. Then, he got another call from Abby who berated him for not resting. By three in the afternoon, Tim had decided that the strategy appeared to be to wear him down until he passed out from exhaustion.

For once, he tried not to think about the plane crash and went to sleep.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Fornell stood and stared at what remained of Tim's apartment. Gibbs and company would show up soon, but for the moment, he had the place to himself...the dripping, scorched, ruined mess that it was. It really sucked. He felt for the kid even though Tim hadn't yet seen the sodden remains. The center of the blast had been at his computer. There were some salvageable things in the bedroom, but the typewriter that Fornell had seen sitting on an old desk...that was torn to pieces. Considering its location, it must have been important. Most of his books were the same, and the ones that weren't were piles of soggy paper. For a guy who was such a techy, he sure had a lot of old stuff. Fornell crouched down on the floor and picked up...a record. A vinyl record. Tim must barely be old enough even to _remember_ records, and yet, he owned not just one but many. Or rather he _had_ owned many. Not anymore.

Little though he knew him, Fornell felt a surge of righteous anger on Tim's behalf as he realized why this had been done. Whoever had done this had been out to destroy...not necessarily to kill, whatever Tim thought...unless, of course, the idea had been to kill Tim in his bed and then blow up the computer as well. Even so, that meant Tim had found something, something worthwhile...something they had known about, something revealing. He nodded to himself and headed out, looking up Abby Sciuto's address as he went. It was important enough that he felt he needed to know this now rather than later.

With Gibbs' skepticism about Tim's obsession with the old case, he wondered how long it would take him to come to the same conclusion. That thought brought a smile to his face. He rather enjoyed being a few steps ahead of Gibbs. Then, he sobered abruptly.

He hoped they could get ahead of the people who obviously weren't finished with their jobs...and that would more than likely end with Tim's death if he couldn't figure it out.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"Man, I hope Probie had fire insurance," Tony said...but without his usual sarcasm.

They were beginning their investigation. Since Tim had claimed there was a bomb involved, that made it more than an accidental fire. It was an attack on one of their own. That made it personal.

"Even insurance will not replace what he has lost," Ziva said. "Some of his possessions were priceless."

"They were junk."

"Not to him. Priceless means without price. They may not always be valuable in terms of cost. ...and regardless, they have been ruined."

"Have you two figured out anything besides that McGee's apartment got burned?" Gibbs asked.

"The center of the blast seems to be here," Ziva said. "The damage is most severe in this place."

"That's where McGee's computer...er...was."

"We have found some pieces of what was probably the detonator...although we cannot be sure until Abby can test it. McGee owned so much that was electronic, plastic...it may be difficult to determine which things were used by the bomber and which were used by McGee."

Gibbs nodded and stared at the spot. Then, without speaking, he walked past them into what remained of Tim's bedroom. It was in much better shape than the rest of the apartment...with the exception of the bathroom which had survive quite well all things considered.

He thought back to what Tim had said. He should have been in bed or else getting ready for the day when the bomb had gone off...and yet, the blast wasn't large enough to destroy the entire apartment.

_That guy killed the techs individually even though he could have done just as well to simply crash the plane._

The individual attention bespoke something different, something more. Either revenge or...

_They wanted something, something from the plane...and something from this apartment. No, they wanted to _destroy_ something from this apartment. Killing McGee wouldn't be enough. They had to be sure._

With that thought, he suddenly realized that he was thinking in the same way Tim must have been thinking for the last few months. It was bigger than a crazy guy going after government employees. He didn't know what it was yet, but he knew that he had been wrong to dismiss Tim's assertions as some sort of desperate obsession with finding closure for a traumatic event. It was more than that. Tim was smarter than that.

"You guys done in here?" a firefighter asked.

Gibbs listened with half an ear as he stared around at Tim's bedroom, damaged but not destroyed.

"Nearly. Why?"

"Well, what with the FBI guys coming in here, too, we haven't had much chance to do our own evaluations and we have to turn in reports just like everyone else."

Gibbs looked up and walked out.

"What FBI guys?"

"Well, there was an older guy just an hour or so ago and then, before him was another one. Younger. He didn't stay very long."

"Was the younger one black?" Tony asked.

"No. No, he wasn't _white_ white, but he wasn't black either."

"It was not Agent Sacks," Ziva said softly.

"But it _was_ Fornell. What was _he_ doing here?"

"I can give you the older guy's card, if you want."

Gibbs looked at him in surprise. "Why do you have it?"

"He asked me to call him if our investigation turned up anything else. Didn't seem interested in taking over at all." He felt in his pocket. "Here."

Gibbs took the card. Sure enough. It was Fornell's. He handed it back.

"Thanks, I can get a hold of him myself."

"Do you know how much longer you guys will be?"

"Give us ten minutes and we'll be done," Gibbs said.

"All right. Thanks."

After he was gone, Tony looked around the apartment.

"This is bigger than just a Gemcity fanatic or a grudge, isn't it, Boss."

Ziva crouched on the floor. "It is what McGee has been telling us."

"But why wait a year to finish the job? That doesn't make any sense."

"...but if McGee had done or found something...recently."

"Has he talked to either of you about it?" Gibbs asked, but he could see the answer before they spoke.

"I kind of lost patience for it, to tell the truth, Boss," Tony said, looking ashamed. "He hasn't bothered for months...and I didn't want to ask."

"Yes, I think we have all tried to convince him that he was simply unwilling to accept what was obviously true." Ziva shook her head ruefully. "And it was we who were unable to accept the truth."

"Anything else to find here?"

"No. I believe we have enough for Abby."

"Good." Gibbs headed out the door. "We'll stop by her place first."

"How do you think McGee will feel when we ask him for what he knows?" Ziva asked.

Tony laughed. "He'll be furious...and then he'll rub our noses in it. Since we kind of deserve it, I guess I can tolerate it."

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Tim was roused yet again by a knock on the door. He sighed angrily.

"Okay, so the point was for me to rest...but not actually be able to get _any_ sleep at all?" he grumbled as he walked to the door. His head still ached. He was tired...and this wasn't helping.

He swung open the door...and had a gun right in his face.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

_Twelve months ago..._

They found him sitting in the main entrance to the conference center, looking a bit worn out, truth be told.

"Larson, where did you go?" Tim asked. "We looked for you all over at lunch. You missed out on some great food."

Larson shrugged. "Just hiding out. I'm telling you. This thing is boring."

"Boring?" Davidson asked. "You were nearly salivating at the first session this morning. I thought you were about to charge the stage."

Larson chose not to answer.

"Weren't you at the last panel? It was excellent," Johnson said. "They did a demonstration of some new firewall software."

The five of them began to head out of the conference center to grab dinner together.

"Yeah, and Keating and McGee got to try and break through it," Davidson said, grinning.

"Did you?" Larson asked, interested.

"Keating did, but McGee got pushed out at the last minute. He was _this_ close!" Johnson put her fingers up an inch apart. "They said they'll have to make some changes to be sure and keep out higher level hackers before putting it on the market." She laughed.

Larson, for just a moment, looked disappointed that he had missed it, but then, when he saw Tim staring at him, resumed his expression of bored indifference.

"So you skipped out?" Tim asked.

"I told you I didn't want to come to this thing."

"But you missed out on our fan club," Keating said with a grin.

"What fan club?"

"There's this guy who follows us around."

"Still?" Tim asked, surprised. "I didn't notice him."

"Oh, yeah. He's been everywhere we have."

"He wasn't at the last panel, though," Johnson said. "At least, I didn't see him there...but I'll admit that I wasn't looking at all. Keating's the one who likes the attention."

Keating thought back. "You're right. He wasn't. Too bad. It would have been nice to have a groupie."

Johnson and Davidson both laughed. "Geek groupies!"

Tim didn't find it as funny...and neither did Larson.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

_Present..._

Tim's entire world tunneled to that gun barrel in his face. The stuff of his nightmares. He felt as though his life was coming to an end.

Then, inexplicably, the gun was lowered, allowing Tim to see the face beyond it.

"Agent McGee, after all this time telling us that there are people after you, wouldn't you think that being a little cautious would be a good idea? If it had been whoever tried to kill you before, you'd be dead."

Tim nearly wilted in relief. As it was, he still sagged weakly against the door, feeling his legs wobble. "Agent Fornell?"

Finally, the stern expression on the FBI agent's face softened. Tim felt a supporting hand on his arm, leading him to one of Abby's black leather couches.

"Maybe I could have made my point a little less dramatically," Fornell allowed. "Sorry about that, kid."

"I probably deserved it," Tim said, feeling weaker than he wanted to admit. "I didn't even check."

Fornell chuckled and sat down opposite Tim. "Just take a few breaths, McGee. You look like a ghost, never mind just seeing one. I think your boss is about two seconds from punching me out as it is. You're not worth getting socked in the jaw...or wherever else he might try to hit me."

Tim laughed. "Even the most paranoid person can let down their guard, I guess."

Fornell shook his head seriously. "No, McGee, I don't think you're paranoid. I think you've been bang on for the last year and it's the rest of us who have been letting down our guards."

"Even you?"

"To an extent, yes, even me."

Tim nodded in acceptance of that. It was to be expected. "What's changed?"

"You found something worth killing for."

Tim's expression didn't change, even though his stomach twisted uncomfortably. To hear someone else say what he'd been thinking for so long somehow meant more...made it more real...more frightening.

"How do _you_ know?" He could tell that Fornell caught the slight emphasis.

"The bomb."

"What about it?"

"It was centered on your computer. The force of the blast destroyed a lot of the main room. I'm sorry about that, by the way, but structurally, your bedroom mostly survived." Tim's feeble hope at that statement vanished as Fornell continued with a sympathetic expression. "Most of your stuff has been either damaged or outright destroyed, but..." he trailed off expressively.

The destruction of pretty much everything he owned faded to unimportance and Tim's eyes widened as he understood the implications.

"I might have survived."

"Exactly. You might have been killed later on...probably would have been, but the purpose of that bomb, what they really wanted..."

"Was to get rid of what I'd found."

"You know what it is?"

"I know what it _must _be..but I have no real evidence for it. As usual."

"Then, how do you know?"

"The same way I knew this wasn't just a case of a crazy guy with a gun," Tim said bitterly. "The pieces didn't fit." He sighed. "Not that anyone believed me then."

"So...you haven't told anyone on your team about this? Not at all?"

Tim shook his head. "Why bother? They didn't want to hear it and I got tired of dealing with their skepticism. There's only so many times I was willing to see their expressions of resignation before I decided just to keep everything to myself and solve the case on my own. I'm perfectly capable of doing it. ...but you know why they wouldn't believe me, don't you."

Fornell didn't answer, but Tim didn't really need him to. He wasn't asking a question. He was making a point.

"It's because I'm the geek. I'm a special agent at NCIS...that's what my badge says anyway...but I do the computer stuff. No one really thinks I can actually do my real job. They look at me as a computer interface, not a special agent. If it had been Tony or Ziva this had happened to, if one of them had been the only survivor...Gibbs would have listened to them; he wouldn't have assumed that they couldn't let go because, unlike me, _they_ are federal agents. They have the background I don't have...and so they're more believable when it comes to things like this. Gibbs has told me to trust my gut, to follow through...but when I do...my gut doesn't mean anything to him. Instead, the only one who's been on _my_ side in this thing has been you."

"Thanks," Fornell said and tipped an imaginary hat Tim's direction.

Tim smiled apologetically. "Sorry, that came out wrong."

"Don't worry, but you know, considering the fact that we probably have about twenty minutes before your team realizes what I realized and shows up wanting to know what you found, wanting to be sure you're safe, I think they _are_ on your side."

"_Now_ they are...but how long will that last when they realize that I still don't have any evidence for it, just personal interpretation of the facts? Will someone trying to kill me convince them for very long?"

"_No _evidence?"

"No. I do have facts I don't think _you _have, but it's not real evidence. It wouldn't hold up in court by any means."

"What are these facts?"

Tim shook his head again. "First, _you _tell _me _something."

"If I can."

"What was Larson doing at the conference?"

"What do you mean?"

"He wasn't just there to attend panels...and I'd guess that wasn't even the primary reason for him to go. So why was he really there? Why did the FBI send _him_?"

Fornell examined Tim's face. It was open, questioning. He was talking about something he was sure of, not something he was guessing about. It might not be based on clear evidence, but Tim was certain of his interpretation.

"I couldn't find anything in what you gave me. I searched those files from front to back until I pretty much had them memorized. I wanted to get more, but I didn't want to get you in trouble by risking being found hacking my way through sensitive FBI files."

"Thanks for that," Fornell said, ironically. "For all I know, Larson was just going because the conference seemed like a valuable chance to catch up on things we might have missed. What makes you think otherwise?"

Tim leaned back, remembering Larson's actions so many months before. It was strange how clear they were, even now. "Because he didn't want to be there...but he had fun when he was with us. When he was at the panels or out for dinner, he grumbled a bit but his heart wasn't in it. He complained about going, but the times he didn't go, he just slipped away and didn't say anything. He disappeared at random times, didn't show up to sessions he'd expressed interest in. He wasn't good at pretending to be just another federal techie. He was doing something else, using the conference as a cover. I think that whatever he was doing was the reason for the attack on the plane." Tim paused, wondering if he should go further. Then, he decided that it didn't really matter. Fornell deserved to know what he thought. "And I think that the FBI at least suspects it themselves...and they're hiding it...for whatever reason. That's why they aren't looking into what I saw, what Keating saw."

"You're going to have a hard time selling me on the conspiracy angle. I'd like to think that I'd be in on it."

"Maybe you _are_," Tim said with a smile. "I haven't completely ruled that possibility out."

"I appreciate that." Fornell returned the grin...and didn't confirm or deny Tim's idea...and Tim didn't ask him to. "Why don't you tell me what you know so that I can clear out before the cavalry arrives."

Tim shook his head firmly. "No. Whatever comes out of their sudden realization that I'm not just paranoid, I want you in on it. You, at least, have been trusting me and helping me out. All they wanted to do was pretend nothing was wrong."

Fornell heard the bitterness. "You know what, McGee, I wasn't sure that you weren't just being paranoid either. I was trying to give you a chance to accept what had happened more than anything."

Tim smiled. "You were still helping me...and _letting_ me look, letting me try. They weren't even doing that much. Besides, you lost someone from your agency, too. You said you wanted to be in on the takedown...and if I'm right about Larson, I'm going to need your access to FBI computers."

"I don't think that I should be helping you hack my agency, McGee...and you probably shouldn't be _asking_ me to help you hack my agency."

"If I'm using _your_ access, with _your_ permission, it won't be _hacking_. It'll be interagency cooperation."

Fornell decided then and there that Tim had been spending too much time with Gibbs. That smile was too reminiscent of Gibbs when he was playing the system.

"How certain are you that this has to do with Larson and not one of the other representatives? Including yourself."

Tim grimaced at the reminder of the possibility. "You want a percentage?" he asked sarcastically.

"An estimate might be nice."

There was a knock at the door, loud and insistent.

"I can't put a number on my certainty," Tim said. "These people who are involved tried, and almost succeeded, in killing me. Twice. They killed five others. I've already staked my life on it, Fornell. I'd do it again in a heartbeat. This case _needs_ to be solved. There needs to be an end to it. They...we _all_ deserve it."

Fornell could see it now. This wasn't a desperate wish for meaning...as it had been in the beginning (although there was still an element of that there). Tim was absolutely certain that he was right. He had analyzed and studied and he was sure. And, as he had been from the beginning, he was entirely honest about what he had and what was his own interpretation.

There was another knock, more like a pounding at this point, demanding entrance. Breaking down the door would probably follow.

"Okay, Agent McGee," Fornell said, firmly. "You want to pursue this, I'll back you all the way."

To prove it, he strode to the door and pulled it open mid-knock...to find a gun in his face.

He smiled.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

_Twelve months ago..._

Tim found Larson sitting out on the patio, all alone.

"Larson."

He jumped and looked back.

"What do you want, McGee?"

"Is something wrong?" Tim asked and sat down beside him.

"Who died and made you the one in charge?"

"I'm not. If I was, I'd force you to tell me what's really going on. I just don't know that I should even try."

"Nothing is wrong. I'm just relaxing."

"From what?"

"You're too inquisitive for your own good."

"I'm an agent. Of course, I'm inquisitive. What brought you to the FBI?" Tim asked.

"What?"

"You don't seem like a typical geek."

"Why not?"

"You remind me of my boss...only you actually know how to use a computer. You have a different kind of discipline."

"I was a Marine," Larson said reluctantly. "Got injured in Kuwait during the war. I'm blind in my left eye. I'd been pretty good at computers before. Came back and did it again. I was working for the government in my free time. Fornell recruited me from that, made me get certified at FLETC."

"You know what you're doing on lots of levels then."

"Yeah. Some that I wish I didn't."

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

_Present..._

"Hello, Gibbs," Fornell said pleasantly. "I was wondering how much longer it would take you guys to get a clue."

"What are you doing here, Fornell?" Gibbs asked.

"He was checking on me," Tim said from behind him. "What are _you_ doing here?"

Gibbs didn't lower his gun.

"You keep showing up at suspicious moments, Fornell."

Tim pushed Fornell out of the way and stepped in front of Gibbs' gun himself. "Hello! Boss! What are _you_ doing here? I already told you what Fornell was doing. The reason he's _still_ here is because _I_ asked him to stay. You have absolutely no say in that."

Gibbs let his gun fall to his side. "You want him here?"

"Almost more than I want you here, Boss," Tim retorted. "You found out that I was telling the truth?"

"I'm more convinced than I was. You want to tell us what's going on? Why someone would want to kill you after a year? What did you find?"

Tim only held back a smirk with a lot of effort. "This is an abrupt about-face. What brought it on?"

"Your apartment," Ziva said. "I am very sorry, McGee. It is ruined."

Tim shrugged. "I kind of figured. I guess I should be grateful for the nightmare that woke me up."

"Nightmare?" Gibbs asked.

"Just the same old thing, Boss." He turned away and met Fornell's eyes for just a moment before straightening his shoulders and walking to the couch. "You want to know why someone tried to kill me? Why they wanted to blow up my computer?" He paused. "Why someone took the time to kill us all individually on the plane rather than just crash the stupid thing a year ago?"

"Yes," Gibbs said, not rising to the bait.

"Fine. Fornell stays. ...and when you see Abby tell her that it's everyone else's fault that I'm not getting any sleep." He smiled a little.

Tony noticeably relaxed and sat down. Ziva and Fornell followed suit. Gibbs watched Tim for a moment before nodding and sitting down.

"Talk."

"Fine. The reason we were picked off one by one is not because he wanted us all dead. He didn't care about us."

"Who _did_ he care about then, McGee?" Ziva asked.

"He didn't care about anyone, least of all himself. He cared about some information that was on that plane, information that he didn't want the FBI to have. His goal was to take us out so that he had the time to search through everyone's luggage, or else possibly just set it all on fire to make sure that the information didn't get passed on."

"Information about what?"

"That's something I'm not sure of...yet," Tim said, glancing at Fornell.

"So that covers a year ago," Tony said. "What about now?"

"Now, it's because of me investigating. I told you before that I wouldn't stop until it was over. It's not over yet, Boss. ...and I think I might have found something."

"In what?"

"I have it in the notes I've been taking on the FBI file."

"You mean the notes you were taking which were on your computer which is now in a twisted metallic and plastic heap in your apartment?" Tony asked.

"Yeah."

"So...now, you have nothing?"

"I have nothing from my apartment," Tim said.

"Meaning?"

"Meaning that I don't have the stuff I was doing in the last couple of days...which isn't much."

"But?" Ziva asked.

"You're enjoying this, aren't you, Probie."

"Maybe a little." Tim smiled.

"Spit it out, McGee," Gibbs said.

"I have copies of some stuff on my computer at NCIS...and in a safe deposit box."

"A safe deposit box? When did you get that?" Tony asked.

"After the first time someone tried to kill me, Tony," Tim retorted. "I thought it might be a good idea to keep things safe. I couldn't trust anyone else to do it for me...not with how you guys were acting."

There was an awkward silence and Tim smiled a bit smugly at them.

"So...do you want to know what I've been doing now?"

"Okay, okay, McGee," Fornell said, "Stop rubbing salt in the wound. They're sorry. Aren't you..." he added to the others, taking on a parental lecturing tone.

"Yes, we're sorry, Probie. Should we grovel?"

"Tempting," Tim said, "but no. No groveling. Not yet anyway. Do you need to see my evidence or will you _trust_ me to tell you what I know?"

"Tell us, McGee," Ziva said.

"All right." Tim sat back, rubbed at his head briefly. "I focused in on Larson when I got the whole file from Fornell. Looking at his history, I started to wonder why he was the one chosen to go from the FBI. I know a lot of the techs in the main office and Larson was not the one I would have thought would be picked to go. It's subjective, I know, but in the beginning I was grasping at straws, trying to find a real reason for what happened. You were right to start out, Boss," Tim said. "I was obsessed with trying to make it rational. ...but the thing is, I was right. I just didn't know it at first."

"Know what?"

"Whatever Larson was doing there at the conference, it was more than about attending panels. He was doing something else, probably at the instigation of the FBI. I think he was gathering information covertly. I interviewed some people who organized the conference. The head sent me the registration lists, and I was able to find some people who remembered Larson leaving the conference center at strange times. He didn't act...right. I can't explain it better than that. It wasn't right even though I hadn't met him before."

"That's it?" Tony asked, sounding disappointed.

"No. That's not even _close_ to being it, Tony."

"So what else?"

A bitter smile crossed Tim's face just for a moment. Then, he continued. "There was the fact that the guy who almost killed me was following us around at the conference. ...and he wasn't the only one doing that. We had a couple of fans who were around. I started noticing it, although Keating had seen the one first. I noticed another guy who was there as well. Then, I started paying attention to _when_ our groupies were around. When Larson was gone, so were they. I double-checked with the registration. They weren't on the lists, but I was able to get a video they made of the conference highlights...and they were there. There are a few times when we were on camera, both with and without Larson. ...and we're being watched when Larson was with us...by our killer."

There was a moment of silence before Tony opened his mouth...and rammed his foot way inside.

"Why didn't you tell us all this before?"

Tim laughed in his face. "You're kidding, right, Tony?" he asked. "You guys were trying to tell me that I was flirting with the label of obsessed. You don't think I can hack it as it is. Why in the world would I waste my time telling you things you don't care about hearing?"

The irritation in his tone told everyone in the room very clearly that Tim had not forgotten what they had said to him. However, it was Gibbs who stopped the interrogation.

"Okay, McGee, you're looking ready to collapse. We have evidence to take to Abby and an investigation to resume. You get some rest." He stood up and then glared at Fornell. "I assume that _you_ have things to do as well, Tobias?"

"I have lots to do, Jethro," he said blithely and smiled.

"Fornell?" Tim asked.

"Yeah, kid, I'll see what I can find out about Larson."

"Thanks. He was a good guy. I don't think this is his fault, but I do think if we can figure him out, we'll be closer."

"Just get some sleep. Gibbs is right. You look like crap." He tipped an imaginary cap at Gibbs and walked out the door, knowing he would be followed.

He made it to the sidewalk before he heard them behind him.

"Fornell!"

He turned around. "Yes? Another empty threat, Gibbs?" he asked.

"No. A question. Is anyone else at the FBI investigating the fire at McGee's place?"

Fornell looked at him for a moment. "No. _I'm_ not even investigating the fire. I'm just being my normal nosy self...so close to retirement that they don't feel the need to fire me. Why?"

"Someone else, claiming to be FBI, came to McGee's place before you...according to the fireman at the scene."

"That's...very interesting, Agent Gibbs. Why didn't you tell McGee about this?"

"He has enough to worry about."

"He won't thank you for that concern, you know. Remember what I said before, Gibbs. Anything else?"

"I suppose telling you to leave him alone would be too much to ask?"

"You try getting McGee to leave _me_ alone and then we'll talk," Fornell said with a grin. "If that's everything, I'll head off to step on some toes at my place of employ. I hope McGee recovers quickly."

Fornell smiled at the three people arrayed against him. They really had no concept of how bad this could get. Fornell did. He had a sinking feeling that he _was_ an unwitting part of the conspiracy Tim had proposed...but he had to find out what he could first. If Tim was right, he was in danger from both sides...although he did hope that he could trust his employer to act a bit more humanely than Tim's would-be killer had.


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

_Twelve months ago..._

"Hey, McGee?"

Tim jumped a little and looked back. "Hey, Johnson. What's up?"

"I was about to ask you that. You looked like you were staring into the fifth dimension."

Tim sighed. "I'm not seeing very far."

"Hey, you're supposed to be our upbeat geek, McGee," Johnson said with a smile. "You can't start taking over Larson's role as the deadbeat."

Tim grinned in response. "You're right. I guess my batteries had run down a bit and I was recharging. Where is our resident party pooper?"

"Not sure, but the next panel's starting in about ten minutes. You coming?"

"Of course. I can't wait. Abby told me I had to go to this panel or face her wrath."

"Why?"

"She's our forensics technician and it's about the use of virtualization in forensics."

"I'm more interested in the one on password attacks this evening."

Tim stood to follow. "We're such nerds."

"That's what makes us so great."

"Hey, who was that?" Tim asked, looking over her shoulder.

"Who?" Johnson turned around, but the man had pulled back. "One of our groupies?"

Tim forced a laugh. "No. It wasn't someone I'd seen before..." He shook it off. "Well, I don't want to miss the panel."

"Larson's been ignoring me; so why don't _you_ be my escort?"

"Sure, okay." Tim held out his arm, but as Johnson laughed and took it...and then dragged him on the way, he looked back over his shoulder. He had the feeling he might have seen the man before...but he couldn't think of where.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

_Present..._

"So, is this the other FBI agent you saw?" Fornell asked the fireman.

He looked at the picture and nodded. "Yeah. Don't you guys talk to each other?"

He forced a smile. "Apparently not. Thanks for your help."

"No problem. Is this going to become an FBI case?"

"Nope. All yours."

"Great," he said slightly sarcastically.

"Never let it be said that the FBI _always_ tries to muscle their way in."

"Yeah, they're happy to let us do the work when it's a messy case."

"That's right," he said and grinned...but when he got back out to his car, the grin faded. He had a bad feeling about this, about what had happened at Tim's apartment...and about what the FBI was doing. His mouth twisted briefly into a sardonic grin.

"Fidelity, bravery and integrity." The motto of the FBI. He was beginning to think that, in regards to the plane crash, his employer had followed none of those and was, instead, thinking only of self-preservation. He looked at the photo again. This wasn't a fight he wanted to start. He'd started getting suspicious when Tim had told him about what he suspected, and he had dreaded the idea of being right about it. ...but then he thought of Tim's apartment, his injuries, the challenges he'd been facing for months, and he decided that they had started this fight, but it was up to him to help end it.

That meant more than stepping on toes. It meant facing off against people who wielded quite a bit of influence in the Federal Bureau of Investigation. One man against many. He didn't really like those odds.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"McGee's pretty mad at us, isn't he?" Tony said unnecessarily.

"Yes, I believe that would be correct," Ziva said. "He is, however, still talking to us, even if he is enjoying being right a bit too much."

Tony grinned. "I can't really blame him. We kind of asked for it."

"As long as he does not continue it for long."

"Well, of course, but I suppose he has the right to be a little miffed at us."

Ziva looked at Gibbs. "I would have preferred it if we were right and there was nothing to it. Someone wishes McGee dead. I do not like that...not after a year."

"_I_ don't like that everything McGee owns is currently ashes or soaking wet."

"I do not think he will mind staying with Abby," Ziva replied with a smile.

"You ready to get back to work?" Gibbs asked as they reached the Yard.

"Of course, Boss!"

"Good. Stop yakking."

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

There was a knock on the door. Tim only reluctantly pulled himself from the deep sleep into which he'd fallen after everyone left. It was hard to wake up. He didn't want to wake up. ...but the knocking wouldn't stop.

"_Agent McGee! Open up!"_

Fornell. Why was he back already? Tim forced his eyes open and dragged himself upright. He stumbled to the door, yawning widely and looked through the peephole before opening the door.

"Fornell...what are you doing back here?"

"We need to talk, kid," Fornell said seriously. "There are bigger problems than you thought."

Tim blinked.

"What do you mean?"

"Come on. We can talk on the way."

"On the way? Where?" Tim asked, still not following.

"To the bank, to your safe desposit box."

"Why?"

"Get your shoes on, Agent McGee. We've got to get going!"

Tim figured he could chalk up his confusion at least partially to his concussion. This couldn't be his fault entirely.

"Why the hurry?"

"Because no matter which bank you use, it will be closing soon and I don't want to give them a chance to catch on. Let's go!"

Tim looked around and found his shoes. He fumbled putting them on and then left Abby's apartment, remembering at the very last minute to write a note saying he'd be back soon. Then, he followed Fornell out of the apartment.

"Which bank?"

"Over on..." Tim yawned. "...M Street. Wachovia."

"Why there?"

"Why not?" Tim returned.

"Good point. All right."

"What's going on?"

"I told you I was going to step on some toes. I did. You're right in the middle of a hornet's nest, McGee. You just don't know it."

"Don't know it?" Tim asked. "Could it be worse than people trying to kill me?"

"Yeah."

"Why?" Tim asked with a laugh. "Is the FBI in on it, too?"

Fornell didn't answer and Tim felt his heart plummet into his shoes.

"They are?"

"Not like that. They don't want to kill you...but I'll bet they wouldn't have shed any tears if the guy who blew up your place had succeeded. They won't be happy when they find out you have backups of all your data."

"How will they find out?" Tim asked. "Wait...did you _tell_ them?"

"No. No, I didn't, Agent McGee, but you should remember the connections the FBI has. They can get warrants for things like safe deposit boxes. It won't be hard to do under the circumstances."

"What circumstances?"

"Let's just get to the bank and see what there is to protect, shall we?"

"Protect? From the FBI?"

"Yes," Fornell said shortly and then added, almost as an afterthought, "_And _the people who tried to kill you."

Tim looked out the windshield, totally bewildered. ...and then a piece fell into place.

"This must be big," he said softly.

"You have no idea."

"How big is it?"

"That I can't tell you."

"Why not?"

"Because, like it or not, McGee, I still work for the FBI and that means that I have a job to do...one that can't be compromised by personal desires."

"Aren't you already compromising by helping me?"

"No." Then, he smiled. "Not by my standards, but telling you about a top secret operation _would_ be compromising."

"And this is more important than the murder of five innocent people, the infiltration of an FBI plane?"

"Yes. It's more important than any one person, even a federal agent."

"It's not enough that they killed five people and maimed me for life? They'll get to walk on that?" Tim asked angrily.

The light turned yellow, but Fornell sped through the intersection.

"If they live, yes. They probably will."

"What do you expect me to do, Fornell?"

"Just what you have been doing, McGee. I just think that we need to level the playing field a little. You're up to your neck and the water is still rising. You do _not_ need the FBI willing to look the other way while people come after you."

"Just who _are_ these people?"

"Can't tell you that."

"How big is this thing?"

Fornell pulled to a stop in front of the bank and looked at Tim for a long time.

"What? What, Fornell?"

"Think...Timothy McVeigh big." Then, he got out of the car.

Tim sat there, stunned. "Timothy McVeigh?" he whispered.

"Come on, McGee. The bank will be closing soon."

Tim got out of the car and followed, almost in a daze.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"Man, this is awful," Abby said, staring at the photos of Tim's destroyed apartment.

"Yeah. It is," Tony agreed.

"What are we going to do about it?"

"Do?"

"Yes, Tony! We have to do _something_! All Tim's worldly possessions have been destroyed!"

Ziva smiled. "I think we should wait until we have caught the person who tried to kill him."

"Tim has been working on this for a year, though! What if it takes us that long? He'll...He'll run out of clothes!"

"Abby, focus," Gibbs said. "The explosive?"

Abby tore her gaze away from the destruction and focused on the destroyer.

"It's a pretty typical detonator and explosive, Gibbs. Nothing particularly amazing about it. It was on a timer, probably to give the scumbag time to get out."

"The center of the blast?"

"The fire department will verify, but from the photos and from what you said, I think the center of the blast is pretty obviously centered on Tim's computer."

"What is this?" Ziva asked, pointing to another bag of debris.

"You guys gathered it."

"Yes, but it looks much like the rest of it."

Abby looked through the list. "This was from...by Tim's writing desk." She scrunched up her face. "But this is the same stuff as was by the computer."

"Two bombs?" Tony suggested.

"Two. Both small...but why?"

"Why the writing desk? That's where he...writes...his novel," Abby said, her voice trailing off. "Tim wouldn't... would he?"

"Who knows? They're not taking any chances, Boss," Tony said. "They must have been watching him for a while to know that he writes."

"And that he includes aspects of reality in his writing," Ziva added. "I think we should give him more protection than an agent out front."

"Call him, Abbs," Gibbs said. "Tell him we're coming over to get him."

Abby nodded and watched worriedly as they left the lab.

There was no answer on her home phone.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"You're depressingly thorough, McGee," Fornell said, looking at the contents of the box.

Tim smiled. "It's all here. I digitized everything, but I wanted the originals as well," he said, holding up a flash drive.

"Great. Now, everything you have is on that?"

"Yeah." Tim hesitated. "What are you going to do with it?"

"I'm not going to do anything. You're going to turn it over to NCIS and see what you can find. I just don't think you can keep doing this on your own anymore. It's too dangerous."

Tim looked at the flash drive. "What if it's nothing?"

Fornell laughed. "Even if it is, _they_ don't think it is...and that's all that matters."

"Excuse me, sirs, we're about to close."

Fornell nodded. "Okay. Let's get over to NCIS and let them all fuss over you."

Tim closed the box, put the flash drive in his pocket and stood up.

"I'm not sure I'm looking forward to it to be honest."

Fornell chuckled. "Bask in it while it lasts. Everything will be back to normal soon enough."

"I wish. I don't think it ever will be."

They returned the box to the bank manager and headed for the exit.

"Why do you say that?"

"No reason." Tim shrugged.

"Hey, McGee..."

Tim stopped on the steps and stared.

"What?"

Tim pointed wordlessly, and he started to speak, but he couldn't seem to get any words out.

Fornell followed his finger and saw the glint of a gun. He didn't stop to think.

"Get down, McGee!" he shouted and forced Tim to the ground before the first shots rang out.


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8**

_Twelve months ago..._

The last day of the conference was as different from the beginning as could be. Larson attended every single panel, was enthusiastic...almost like a different person. He even began paying attention to Johnson's flirting.

All too soon, the conference was over and Tim was packing up his bag. There was a knock on the door. Tim hurried over and opened it.

"Larson...what's up?"

"Nothing. Our taxi's here."

"Oh." Tim looked at his watch. "It's early isn't it?"

"Yeah, I figured we might as well get to the airport a little early. There are always delays."

"But we have a private plane. It won't take off without us."

"But if we miss our time to takeoff, that will delay everyone."

Tim looked at Larson suspiciously. "What's going on?"

"Nothing. I did have a good time yesterday, McGee. There were some really interesting panels."

Tim let himself get propelled into the hallway. The others were already downstairs.

"Why are we going to the airport so early?" Keating asked, his brow furrowed.

"Because Larson thinks we're going to miss our flight," Tim said smiling. "I guess we'll get to have lots of fun playing in the lobby."

"McGee, you are being way too chipper," Davidson said. "I think you're faking it."

Tim just smiled, but he knew there was more truth to it than Davidson thought there was. He just didn't know how much more.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

_Present..._

Tim had no concept of how long he lay on the ground, Fornell holding him down. His hearing seemed to have vanished. All the sound in the universe was gone, leaving only a terrifying silence. He was conscious only of the feeling of the concrete steps digging into various parts of his already-bruised body. The man who had been in his apartment, the man who had taken his gun. ...the man who was the only face he could firmly place on the side of the people trying to kill him.

...and he was horribly aware of how helpless and useless he was. He didn't have a gun. He couldn't do anything but let other people try to save him. He couldn't save himself. Even Fornell thought he should be letting NCIS do his job for him. He felt the strange sensation of inhaling and exhaling, his body lifting off the steps slightly and then falling back as the air left his lungs. He couldn't get up with Fornell's arm on his back and his knee on his leg. It rather hurt, but Tim figured he didn't have the right to complain when Fornell was saving his life.

Then, the pressure vanished and Tim was being rolled over. He looked up at Fornell, just breathing, staring up into his eyes. He still couldn't hear anything.

Fornell still had his gun at the ready, but most of his attention was on Tim which told him that the danger was more than likely past.

Sound began to return.

"...okay, McGee? Hey, kid, are you all right? Did he get you?"

Tim shook his head.

"Good," Fornell said and looked around again.

"Did...you get him?"

"No. ...got away. So much for keeping the FBI out of this," he said with a sigh. Then, he looked back down. "Hey, you sure you're all right? Did you hit your head on the steps?"

Tim shook his head again.

"Want to sit up?"

Tim tried, but he found that he was shaking so much he couldn't. Fornell's gaze became overtly concerned and he reached out to pull Tim into a sitting position, leaning on the steps. Tim didn't know why he couldn't stop shaking.

"All right, I'm calling Gibbs."

Another head shake.

"Why not?"

"They...don't need to know."

Fornell laughed at him. "Are you kidding? I'm surprised the cameras aren't here yet. The police will be here in seconds. The FBI will be only a bit behind them. You need NCIS here."

Tim wanted his team there. He wanted them to shield him from another attack...but he was ashamed of needing them to do it. He couldn't seem to calm down, couldn't seem to get a grip on himself. He was looking around and around.

"Relax, McGee," Fornell said, putting a hand on his shoulder.

Relax. That was more impossible than asking him to run a mile.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"Grab your gear," Gibbs said, almost angrily.

"What's up, Boss?" Tony asked as he stood up.

"Shots fired at the Wachovia Bank, down the street. Fired at McGee."

"McGee?" Ziva repeated. "He was supposed to be at Abby's apartment. What was he doing there?"

"I'll be sure to ask Fornell that question when we get there."

"Fornell?" Tony echoed.

"Let's go!" Gibbs snapped and stormed over to the elevator.

Tony and Ziva ran to catch up.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"People, please, stay back!" Fornell ordered with a few worried glances in Tim's direction. He had completely fallen apart. It was expected that he'd been affected by the illustration of someone trying to kill him, but this was extreme. He questioned that Tim would be able to stand, even now. He was actually relieved when the expected police cars pulled up.

Then, his phone rang. That was a bad sign. There was only one person who should be calling him right now.

"Sacks?" he asked as soon as he had connected.

"_They know and they're coming. Why do I feel like I'm part of a conspiracy?"_

"Because you watch too many conspiracy movies, Sacks."

"_Are you going to let me in on what's going on?"_

"For your sake, no. Not right now, anyway. How much time do I have?"

"_Five minutes at most."_

"That's plenty. I can get McGee out of the way."

"_You're playing with fire, Fornell."_

"Yep. I am, but at least I know that in advance."

A familiar car pulled up and Fornell smiled.

"Ah, here come some of the flames now."

"_The FBI made it there already?"_

"Nope. NCIS."

"_Have fun."_

"Bye, Sacks." Fornell hung up. "Hey, McGee. Your team is here."

There was a pained hope in Tim's eyes as he looked up. Then, he looked back down, obviously ashamed at his instant reaction.

"What is going _on_, Tobias?" Gibbs raged as soon as he got there.

Fornell stepped right up to Gibbs, toe to toe, and then leaned in close and spoke just above a whisper.

"If you want to do more than flail ineffectively, I suggest you get McGee out of here, back to NCIS before the FBI gets here."

"Why?"

"I can't talk about it here. ...just get McGee away. Now. He needs your help. More now than he did before."

Gibbs looked over Fornell's shoulder and Fornell saw his eyes widen just a bit at Tim's obvious shock.

"Sacks has informed me that my comrades will be here in...oh, about four minutes now. If they get McGee in their hands, you won't see him again for...well, it's an indeterminate length of time. They'll arrest him if they have to, but they won't make waves because they don't want attention drawn to them and what they're doing." Gibbs no longer exuded rage from every pore. "Get him out of here, Jethro. For his sake."

Gibbs nodded slightly.

"DiNozzo, David, get McGee back to the car."

"I can stand...Boss," Tim said, but his arms were shaking visibly as he began to push himself to his feet. He flushed in embarrassment as Tony and Ziva unassumingly helped him get up. They supported him over to the car when it became obvious that Tim was still shaking too much to walk on his own.

"No matter how mad you are at me, Gibbs," Fornell said, "there are some things you all need to hear from me. So...I'll stick around here when my friends arrive and I'll try to get over to NCIS. McGee is in a lot of danger...and it's no longer just from the people trying to kill him."

"What about you?"

"Am I trying to kill him? No. My goals are unchanged...but they've had to be slightly modified in light of some information I recently received. I just miscalculated on how soon the people after McGee would try again. You have two minutes now. Get him out of here."

The nice thing about Gibbs was that, once convinced, he didn't waste time trying to get more information. He worked on the information he had and drew conclusions. Then, he got on with things. He could see what was going on...a little bit. That was enough. He nodded and headed for the sedan. They drove away, leaving Fornell to talk to the police, soothe some ruffled feathers...and then face some loud music when the FBI arrived.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"You feeling any better, McGee?" Tony asked as they drove to NCIS, unable to keep the worry out of his voice. He'd never seen Tim like this before.

"Yeah, I am," he said softly. "Where's Fornell?"

"He's staying behind to talk to the cops."

"He'll be joining us later," Gibbs said. "Why did you leave Abby's apartment?"

"Fornell said it was important," Tim answered, looking at the floor. It was clear he was embarrassed, ashamed. "Really important."

"McGee..."

"I just...just had to sit there. Just wait for it. Just..." Tim shook his head. "I wasn't armed. I wasn't able. I just stood there and stared. I had to wait for someone else to save me. Again. I'm...so tired of..."

"Of what, Probie?"

Tim lifted his head and smiled weakly. "I'm tired of people trying to kill me, Tony." Then, his head dropped once more and he said nothing else until they reached NCIS.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"McGee, stay here. Ziva, Tony."

"Conference Room, right, Boss."

Ziva smiled at Tim as she stepped off the elevator. He managed a smile in return, but it didn't last very long. As soon as the doors closed, the elevator stopped.

"What's going on, McGee?"

"People are trying to kill me, Boss."

"I know. That's not what I'm talking about."

"Then, what?"

"You were too scared at the bank. Why?"

"Someone tried to shoot me, Boss. Why shouldn't I have been scared?"

"Scared, yes, but you went beyond that, and you've faced down worse before. What's eating at you?"

A sardonic smile crossed Tim's face. "Oh, I don't know, Boss...maybe the whole getting shot and nearly killed thing. It has a way of sticking with me." He patted his hip. "Remember?"

"I haven't seen any sign of a limp or any weakness in your leg, McGee."

"Well, you're not me! You just look. I'm _living_ it!"

"And?"

"And what?" Tim asked, straightening up. "Why does there have to be anything else? Isn't it enough that I'm crippled? Isn't it enough that I was proven right? Isn't it enough that people are trying to kill me, that the FBI doesn't care? Isn't it enough that my apartment is destroyed and everything I own is gone? Isn't all that enough? What more does there have to _be_, Boss?"

"You're not crippled, McGee. That's all in your head."

"Just like the people coming after me are in my head?"

"McGee, your therapists, both of them, are telling me that you're ready."

"Well, they're wrong. I'm not."

"Are you telling me that you're not recovered?"

"I'm telling you that until I can trust my leg to hold me up, I'm not going to be ready...and I don't. ...so I'm not. I'm not going to let you all figure out too late that I'm worthless, that I'm not good enough. I'm...I'm not going hold your lives in my hands...because I know I'll drop them."

Gibbs looked at Tim for a long moment and then made a mental note to talk to his physical therapist in more detail. Tim's continued insistence on his need to recover had seemed like an excuse to keep working on his case, but Gibbs was now seeing that Tim really was terrified that he would fail at the moment when he was needed...and if he thought he would, then he would, even if there was no earthly reason why he should.

They had more problems than the FBI and Tim's would-be murderer. They had a problem with Tim himself, getting him to accept that he was healed...if he really was.

He was startled by his phone ringing.

"Gibbs," he said tersely, still watching Tim.

"_Fornell. Will everyone fit in your...office?"_

"I guess."

"_Good. I'm on my way. I don't want to talk about this where we could be overheard."_

"How about Autopsy?"

"_Fine. Whatever. I don't want what I'm going to say going on any sort of record, understood?"_

"Clear." Gibbs hung up.

"Fornell?" Tim asked.

"Yeah."

"He believed me. You didn't."

"I know."

"I didn't want to rely on him at first, you know."

"Why did you?"

"Because I needed to lean on _someone_. He was there."

"We're here now, McGee."

"And how long will it take for you to stop believing me this time?"

"We won't. We're in this for the long haul." He turned back on the elevator and sent it up to the top floor to get Tony and Ziva.

Tim smiled. "You know what I regret most?"

"What?"

"That I didn't have just one other person survive...so there would be someone who really understood what it felt like...being up there."


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9**

_Twelve months ago..._

Larson breathed a huge sigh of relief when they all finally settled on the plane. This week had been nothing short of stressful and he was glad to be safe on the plane, safely on his way back to DC. He was going to tell the FBI that he couldn't do these things anymore. It was too hard.

He looked over and saw Tim give him a quizzical glance. He just smiled. Larson knew that Tim had nearly figured out something of what was going on, but he didn't know the details. He couldn't know the details and Larson was sure that he'd be in big trouble if the truth of why he had gone to the conference was known.

...but all that didn't matter. Safe at last...

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

_Present..._

Fornell walked quickly into NCIS, knowing that eventually, he was going to be called to the carpet for what he was doing. Hopefully, there would be a way to keep his job and demonstrate to his superiors that they were going about all this in the wrong way. Tim was someone you wanted as an ally, not as an enemy. He was idealistic and the more idealistic one was, the more bitter he became when those ideals were trampled. Tim wanted, no _needed_ to believe that the government, by and large, was staffed by people who truly wanted the best and would follow the spirit of the law, not just the letter.

The elevator sent him down to Autopsy. When the doors opened, he saw Tim's fan club arrayed around him, mostly glaring at the invader, the man who had surreptitiously stolen their friend and colleague away. Tim, however, seemed relieved that he was there.

"Fornell, how nice to see you," Gibbs said, glowering.

Fornell smiled. "Thanks, Gibbs. And here I was worried about my welcome."

"What's going on?" Tim asked. "I know people are after me, but why are you so worried about the FBI?"

Fornell hitched one leg onto a handy autopsy table.

"Here's the deal: you were right about Larson, McGee."

"In what respect?"

"He's the reason for all this...not because _he_ did anything wrong, but because he was chosen as a courier. The conference was just a cover to get him to LA and to make him available."

"To whom? And why?" Ziva asked.

Fornell hesitated. They had no idea how far out on the limb he was going by saying all this.

"Spit it out, Tobias," Gibbs said.

Fornell laughed. "I may be ending my career, Jethro. The least you could do is acknowledge that."

"What could be sacrificing your career?" Tony asked. "Aren't you near the end of that career anyway?"

"Thank you, DiNozzo. I am well aware of how close I am to retirement. It's a little more serious than that. I don't want to spend my retirement in Leavenworth."

Fornell noticed that Tim wasn't saying much...and he still looked a little dazed, truth be told.

"McGee, you okay?"

He was rewarded by a half smile.

"As okay as I'm going to be."

There were too many layers to that statement to deal with them at the moment.

"Okay. Here it is: Larson was meeting with an FBI informer who is a member of a domestic terror cell. They want to follow in the footsteps of Timothy McVeigh and destroy something big. Where, what and when has been the focus of the FBI investigation for three years. They don't want to be caught with their pants down this time and are willing to do anything to keep what they know and what they don't know away from the media and away from the people they're trying to take down."

"And they're willing to look the other way for that?" Tony asked.

"Imagine what would happen if they admitted that there was more to the crash than just a crazy guy who made his way onto the plane," Fornell said. "Where does the investigation stop? Why was the guy on the plane? How did he get there? Why was he trying to kill everyone on board? Oh, he wasn't? Then, why crash the plane? Why is someone else going after McGee now? How are they related?" He sighed. "You can't stop once you start. The media won't allow it. That's the world we live in now. The media has decided that secrets mean corruption, no matter who's keeping them...and the public has bought into the idea. You can't say something is classified anymore. So...they say that it's a crazy guy who somehow found a weak link in the security. That just means that they have to spend time and money revamping security measures which failed, not that there's a group out to make a name for themselves through mass murder."

Tim's head dropped so that he was staring at his hands. He still didn't say anything.

"The FBI won't let another building get destroyed, not when they can possibly prevent it. If that means delaying justice or ignoring it altogether for a single person, fine with them."

"What are you saying?" Tim asked, still staring at his hands. "That no one is going to do anything to get justice for us?"

Fornell noticed that Tim said nothing about saving his own life...only getting justice...and there was no reason to pretend anything other than the truth.

"It's a distinct possibility, I'm afraid. ...from the FBI, at least."

"Why? I understand this is important, but...but why couldn't they get these people for what they did to us?"

"Because we couldn't get them all," Fornell said. ...and then when Tim remained in the same position he re-emphasized his words. "_We_ couldn't get them all."

Tim's head lifted, just a bit.

"You don't want me to give this up."

"No."

"...but you said..."

"Yes, I did."

"I don't understand."

"That's because you've had a nasty shock today. Give it a few minutes and you'll get it."

"You want _us_ to do it?" Tony asked.

"I can't go any further than I have," Fornell said seriously. "Actually, I've already gone too far in telling you what I've told you. You guys need to figure out some way to take down these guys for the plane...but without compromising the FBI's case. If you go too far and get in trouble, there's nothing I can do because I'll be up the proverbial creek without a paddle. Besides that...you'll be risking messing up a case years in the making and I may want justice, but even I want to stop the whole cell more than getting justice. I'll give you whatever help I can, but nothing that will compromise the case. So...if you can work it out, great. I'm with you all the way, but if you can't...you watch what you do. Don't hang yourself."

There was a long silence and Fornell looked straight at Tim.

"We wanted things to make sense, McGee...and now they do. Is it enough?"

Tim looked at him and then his gaze dropped to his hands again and he said nothing.

"It doesn't help, does it."

Tim's head moved a fraction. It was almost a tic rather than a response.

"Gibbs, can I talk to you in your office?"

Gibbs was looking at McGee and he nodded.

"Think about what you want to do," Fornell said. "Let me know what you decide."

Then, he walked to the elevator. Gibbs barely a step behind. The elevator doors closed. It started to move...and then jerked to a stop.

"What, Tobias."

"I'm worried about your man."

"Why?"

"You're not?"

"I didn't say that."

"He doesn't think that things will ever go back to normal. He thinks he has nothing to offer anymore. That's a poisonous attitude to indulge in, Jethro."

"I know."

"What are you doing about it?"

"I don't know. Yet. Still making decisions."

"How bad is he really?"

"The official report from his physical therapist says that he's cleared for work. His therapist thinks that getting him back into the field would do wonders to help his self esteem which is about as stubborn as he is. He won't accept it and has refused to go back to his job. He says he's not ready because he doesn't know if his leg will hold him if pushed to the limit."

"Something needs to happen, Gibbs. He won't be able to go on like this. He needs something. I don't know if this case will end like he thinks he wants it to end."

"Since when is this your concern?"

"I like the kid, Gibbs. He's a good agent. He's a determined investigator and this setback shouldn't spell the end for his career if it doesn't have to. Does it?"

"Not on my account."

"Then, make sure it's not on his account either."

"You're not exactly helping."

Fornell sighed. "What do you want me to say, Gibbs? That Agent McGee's health and happiness is more important than the lives of possibly hundreds of Americans? Is that what you want to hear? I'm sorry. It's not. You know that as well as I do...even if you choose to ignore that fact more often than not. If you have something specific you want me to do...that won't compromise the case, let me know. Otherwise..." He flipped back on the elevator. "...this is something you're going to have to solve...because I don't have the answers. Keep him safe and alive...until he realizes that he can do that himself to a large degree."

The elevator doors opened and Fornell got off and then walked away without looking back. Tim may not have figured out reality yet, but Fornell could see it all with perfect clarity. There was no way to do it all. Tim was going to have to figure out what he really wanted.

...and no one could help him do that.


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10**

Instead of going directly back to Autopsy, Gibbs stopped the elevator again and pulled out his phone. He called Tim's therapists and asked them for more details about Tim's ability, both physical and mental. The answers he got perplexed him and he let the elevator descend once again. When he returned to Autopsy, Tim was still sitting, but Tony and Ziva were talking with him in a much more relaxed fashion. He seemed a bit calmer than he had been before. Gibbs didn't want to take that away from him, but they needed to talk...about a lot of things and Tim deserved privacy, even if the results of this chat would affect Tony and Ziva as well.

"McGee."

Tim looked over at him.

"Yeah?"

He jerked his head toward the door. Tim nodded and got off the table. As he walked across the room, Gibbs watched his gait, looking for any sign of weakness. While Tim seemed a bit unstable, he rather felt that could be chalked up more to Tim's recent head injury and his lingering shock than it could to his leg. They took the elevator, but not to a room Tim likely expected.

He led Tim out of the elevator and into MTAC. Once inside, he sent out the techs. The two of them were the only ones in the room, the most secure room in all of NCIS. He gestured for Tim to sit.

"Talk to me, McGee."

"About what, in particular?"

"A few things, but we'll start with you yourself."

Tim's brow furrowed...as if this was the most unimportant thing he could be bringing up. Under the circumstances, Gibbs didn't blame him, but this was important to _him_.

"What _about_ me?"

"I called your therapists."

"Yeah?"

"And Nate says that you could have come back to field duty over a month ago. He says that while you need to take it easy on yourself, there's no reason for you to be restricted to desk duty."

Tim said nothing.

"And your other therapist told me that you are holding yourself back unnecessarily. She feels that you're afraid of messing up and that is the only reason you're not back at work."

Still nothing.

"She _also_ said that she has been pushing you to start on field work again."

Tim's muteness nearly put Gibbs' own to shame.

"What's going on? These are people who are trained to know when their patients are healed. They're telling me you are."

"I'm not," Tim said, looking at his hands resting in his lap...or maybe it was at his hip.

"Why? What still needs to happen?"

"I'm not strong enough."

"For what?"

"I might screw up. My leg might collapse. What if that happened when your lives depended on it? Better that I'm not there for you to lean on."

"I trust you, McGee."

"I don't."

"I can see that. ...and you know what? _That_ is the only problem. It's not your leg. It's not your hip. It's not your ability. It's that you're too afraid to trust yourself. You weren't at fault on that plane."

"I was the only agent there. I was the only one armed. ...and I'm the only one who survived." Tim clenched his hands together. "I told her to stay down."

"Who?"

"Johnson. She was the tech from the NSA. She was so much fun. If she had only stayed down. I told her to. I didn't want her getting up. She couldn't have helped, but...but she wanted to. ...and she died like everyone else did. ...except me."

"It wasn't your fault, McGee."

"I know it wasn't, but I still couldn't save them. Any of them. I barely saved myself." He looked up. His eyes were dry but he looked devastated. "I don't want to risk that...not with you all."

"McGee, you run the risk of dying or any of us dying every second of the day. Look at Kate, at Pacci, at Cassidy or Langer or any other agent who's died. Langer wasn't even supposed to be in danger! But he still died!"

Tim brought his hands to his head, resting his elbows on his knees.

"Everyone tells me that I'm fine...but shouldn't _I_ feel fine if I'm really fine? I don't! I don't feel fine! I'm afraid, Boss! I'm afraid all the time that my leg is going to give out on me, that something else is going to go wrong, that I'm going to be killed because I can't do anything to stop them."

"Why can't you?"

"I freeze. I froze today. I saw him...and I couldn't even _say_ anything. I just...all I could see was...was someone else aiming their gun at me...someone else who was going to kill me. ...and I had to be saved. Again. Just like I told you before."

"You weren't _armed_, McGee. Of course you couldn't fend off someone who was going to shoot you if you don't have a weapon."

"Because he stole mine. Because when he came out of my apartment...I froze again. ...only it was my dog who had to save me that time."

"Tim, I'd trust you with my life."

"And when I failed? What would you do then? Oh, right. You'd be dead."

_Thwack!_

"As soon as all this is over, McGee, you're back on field duty," Gibbs said.

"No!" Tim looked at him, fear in his eyes.

"Yes. You're ready and you'll never see that you are if you keep hiding out here. That's final."

"I'll quit," Tim said, his voice shaking a little. "If you make me go out into the field again before I'm ready, I'll quit."

Gibbs actually smiled. "No, you won't. Not until this is over because you need the access you have at NCIS."

Tim swallowed and Gibbs could see he'd called Tim's bluff. Tim didn't want to leave NCIS at all...but he was afraid. That fear was the problem. Not anything else...but he decided to pass over it for now.

"What are you going to do about the FBI case?"

The sudden shift in topics threw Tim for a loop. He stiffened and blinked at Gibbs for a few moments, clearly wondering if there was an ulterior motive in the shift.

"I...I don't know."

"Are you going to pursue it? If so, you have our help."

"What about what Fornell said?"

Gibbs shrugged. "Not my call. It's your case. Your call. You're the one who's spent all this time trying to get justice for your friends. What do you want to do?"

Tim pulled the flash drive out of his pocket and flipped it over and over in his hands.

"I don't know."

"You need to decide. And soon. We can't keep this kind of thing up forever."

Then, Gibbs stood up and walked toward the exit. Tim remained where he was, his gaze flicking back and forth between the colored bars on the big screen and the small flash drive in his hands. There were no orders that could be made in this case. Tim had to make a decision to pursue something that could be dangerous to a lot of people or he had to decide to give it up and try to find some way to save his own life. No one could make that choice for him, but he was clearly feeling the stress of trying to make that decision for himself.

"You coming? Can't stay in MTAC all day. People have work to do."

Tim stood up and walked over to the door, slipping the flash drive back into his pocket as he came. Gibbs relented and put an arm around Tim's shoulders.

"Did you get a good look at the guy who came after you this time?"

Tim nodded.

"Okay. You ready to give Abby a description?"

Tim shook his head. Gibbs smiled.

"All right. Take a few minutes. Then, go down to the lab."

"Okay," Tim said quietly.

"We'll support you, whatever you decide, McGee."

Tim took a deep breath and nodded. Then, he walked away...and down the stairs to the bullpen. He bypassed his desk and looked like he was heading for the men's room. Gibbs let him have that privacy. NCIS was as safe a place as any...and a lot safer than most.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Tim stepped into the men's room and sighed, closing his eyes tightly as he leaned against the door. This was not at all how he had expected all this to end. How had a simple investigation into a murder turned into a decision between justice and protection of the nation? How was he supposed to choose? Besides, his life was still in danger no matter which option he chose. Someone was still trying to kill him.

_...because you couldn't let it go._

He walked to the sink and stared at himself in the mirror. He looked a little worse for the wear...but he couldn't really do much to fix that seeing as all his worldly possessions were either destroyed or ruined by water.

Tim shook his head, pushing that depressing thought away. Instead, he turned on the water and leaned over to splash it on his face with the intent of at least clearing away the dirt from his most recent experience. He heard the door of the restroom open and he straightened in order to see who it was.

...and he froze, sucking in his breath to shout.

"You say a word and I'll just kill you and be done."

The breath came out of his mouth in a whoosh.

"Where is it?" the man demanded, gun in hand. He did not look like he was playing a game.

It was Tim's own gun.


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter 11**

"Where is...what?" Tim asked in a whisper.

"You geeks never have just one copy of things. I know you must have a backup somewhere. I got your computer. Where is it?"

Tim looked at the man who had tried to kill him twice already, at the man who had shadowed them at the conference last year. ...and he thought about the flash drive sitting snugly in his pocket.

"Tell me where it is...and I'll think about letting you live."

"You're going to kill me anyway," Tim said, his voice shaking. "We both know that."

"Then, I'll think about making it quick instead of miserable and long. Where is it?"

"It's...not...here. They never believed me...here. I hid it."

"Where?"

"At my...apartment."

"Your apartment is ashes now."

"Not the bedroom. N-Never keep things...like backups...in the same place as your...computer. That's safety tip 101."

"Then, I'll go and blow it up again."

"It's a crime scene," Tim said. "Police guard. They're looking for you. How did you get in here?"

"My compatriots are good at faking IDs. We got someone onto the plane, didn't we?"

In his mind's eye, Tim saw all his friends die again and he winced at the recollection. The man smiled cruelly.

"All but you. Must have been a nice scene. Tell me: how long did it take for him to take out all those geeks, huh? Must have been quick. You geeks aren't ever very good at anything besides computers."

Tim took a step toward him, angry at the disparagement of those who had been killed.

"You piece of..."

The gun came up and Tim stopped.

"Uh-uh, geek. Stay where you are. I wouldn't want to blow my cover by blasting your brains out...now, would I?"

"I...don't know. Would you?"

The man just smiled.

"Where is your little backup to all your important work?"

"I told you. In my apartment. My bedroom."

"Where?"

Tim forced himself to smile. "Find it yourself."

"Oh, no. Either I leave you here dead or else I take you with me."

"And kill me later?"

"Yeah...but you won't have any time to plan your pointless escape attempt if you're dead."

Tim swallowed. It was like his worst nightmare coming true. He was going to be killed. He was unarmed. He had no one to help him.

...but what would happen if he just allowed this man to kill him? No justice. Not for anyone. If he bothered to search Tim's body, he'd find the flash drive. He couldn't just tell this man to kill him and be done with it.

"Well, geek?"

"I'll...show you where it is. I'll take you there. You'll be able to get in if I'm with you."

The man laughed in Tim's face.

"You think you'll be able to get away from me? Right. I'd like to see you try it. You've failed every time so far. If you hadn't had someone else with you..."

He might as well have been reading Tim's mind. He was saying the same things Tim had thought himself.

"How will we get out of here? How did _you_ get in?"

"I'm a visitor. I've got FBI credentials." He held up his ID.

"Just like the...man on the plane."

"Exactly. Let's go."

Tim nodded, licking his lips nervously. His mind seemed jammed up with fear. He couldn't get it to think about anything other than the fact that he was going to be shot with his own gun.

They walked out of the men's room, and the man had his gun in Tim's side. Any funny business and Tim knew he'd be dead.

...but he had to do _something_. He couldn't let this be the way things went, the way things ended. The end couldn't come with the bad guys winning. That wasn't right. It wasn't _fair_! Tim was tired of things not being fair. This man was indirectly responsible for the death of his friends. Letting him get away with this would be like spitting on their graves. He had to think of something.

They got onto the elevator and Tim considered trying to stop him here...but no. Not enough room. No witnesses. He needed someone to _see_ this man trying to kill him.

The elevator went down to the main floor and Tim saw Henry, the old security guard, sitting at his usual post. He smiled at Tim and his unwanted companion.

"Afternoon. Feeling better, Agent McGee?"

Tim managed a smile. "Yes, Henry. Much better."

Henry looked at him a bit quizzically but Tim kept walking. ...but then, as they passed, he began to form shapes with one of his hands.

Letters. Just two letters repeated over and over again.

_S...O...S...O...S...O...S..._

He prayed that Henry would realize something was wrong...because this was where he had to make a stand. Here where there was someone with a weapon. Here where there could be witnesses to whatever happened. Even if it meant that he was dragging poor Henry into it, it had to be done. Now, not at his apartment where civilians could be at risk, where there would be no witness to his death.

All these thoughts ran through his brain and they were halfway to the outside door when Tim suddenly whirled away from the man's side.

"Call for help, Henry!" he shouted and grabbed at the gun. There was no more time to worry about whether or not Henry would get help. He had to focus all his attention on the gun.

He caught hold of the barrel as the man fired it. The slide caught his hand and he almost lost his grip, but he held on and wrenched it to the side. The man fired again...and again the slide caught his hand. It hurt, but he couldn't let it go. He'd be killed for sure...and maybe Henry, too.

Desperate, Tim lashed out with his foot, catching the man's knee and knocking him to the ground. The only problem was that Tim was still holding onto the gun and so he was dragged down as well. He was still fighting to keep hold of the gun as the man discharged it again and again, both trying to shoot Tim and just get him to let go.

Tim's hands were sweaty and the hand holding the gun barrel was scraped and pinched, but he kept fighting to keep control.

_Click. Click. Click._

The gun was empty. Tim's mind registered that only vaguely. The man was no less dangerous for all that he could no longer shoot Tim. He finally got the gun out of Tim's hands and brought it up...more than likely to bash Tim's brains out.

Again, Tim lashed out with his legs, this time kicking the man in the stomach. He doubled over, dropping the gun...but he didn't give up. They were now grappling for a dominant position. Tim was absolutely certain he looked like an idiot. It was an undignified position.

Tim's mind dwelled on the ridiculous nature of that thought for a few seconds, but then refocused on the fight. Dredging up old techniques from his wrestling days and then from FLETC, Tim wrapped both his legs around one of his opponent's, effectively pinning him to the ground...for the moment.

They fought, not really throwing punches, but struggling to get the upper hand. Then, the man threw an elbow. In wrestling, it would have been an illegal move, but not here. Not now. There was no referee controlling this fight. The elbow caught Tim in the throat. He gagged and choked, trying to breathe and started coughing. His grip weakened as he panicked in an attempt to keep breathing.

The man pressed his advantage and Tim felt his arm slip around his neck.

...but then...

"Freeze, dirt bag!"

The man stopped and Tim gasped for breath.

"Let him go."

"Not a chance."

The arm tightened. There were black spots in Tim's vision.

"You've got nowhere to go. We've all seen you. We know who you are. We can't let you leave. You have no choice."

"You want him dead? Try and stop me."

Tim was able to get a little bit of oxygen down his windpipe, but it wasn't nearly enough. He didn't know if it was because of the blow to his throat or because his throat was currently being squeezed much too tightly.

Impasse.

...but not one he could allow to continue. If he was going to die, it wasn't going to be due to suffocation. He opened his mouth as wide as he could and tried to force the air into his lungs.

Not much...but enough. It cleared his vision enough to see Gibbs, Henry, Tony and Ziva all with their guns drawn. He looked at Gibbs for just a moment...

...and then, one final time, he lashed out with both his legs, giving up his purchase on the floor and letting the man's arm keep him upright...and start to strangle him in the process. He kicked as hard as he could, making contact with both the man's knees for a second time. The man pitched forward, dropping Tim to the ground...and then falling on top of him. Tim was still gasping for air. It was as if his trachea had been stunned by the blow and couldn't remember how to let air in.

It seemed like forever, but was really only a few seconds before the man was being pulled off Tim. Tim felt himself being turned over but he was still trying desperately to get a real breath.

Tony's face hovered over him.

"It's okay, Probie. You'll be all right."

"Can't...breathe...Tony," Tim managed to squeak out.

"Yeah, you can. Just relax. Ducky'll be here soon. Besides, it's like getting the wind knocked out of you. Ever have that happen?"

Tim nodded, still trying to get more air into his lungs.

"While it's happening, you think you'll never be able to breathe again, but give it a few seconds and it's okay. Don't panic. It's all right."

Tim nodded and kept trying to inhale and then, he noticed that Tony was right. It was getting easier. His throat ached like no tomorrow, but he could breathe again.

"Better?" Tony asked with a smile.

"Yeah...sort of..."

"Hurts to talk?"

Tim nodded.

"You'll be fine. Sore, but fine. ...and don't worry. We got him."

Tim looked around to find his would-be killer and couldn't see any sign of him.

"Gibbs and Ziva took him to holding. ...before they killed him after arresting him."

Tim smiled...but didn't speak.

"You ready to sit up?"

Breathing still took more effort than Tim liked, but he nodded. Carefully, Tony helped him and Tim was relieved to find that breathing was easier when he wasn't flat on his back on the floor. He looked around again and saw Henry hovering close by.

"Thanks...Henry," Tim managed to get out through his bruised vocal cords.

"Took me way too long to figure out what in the world you were doing with your hand, Agent McGee."

"Sorry..."

Henry shook his head. "No, _I'm _sorry. I didn't see anything wrong with the guy's ID. Let him right inside."

"It's...okay..."

"You hurt anywhere else, Probie?" Tony asked.

Tim held out his hands which were scraped and bruised.

"Ouch."

Tim nodded in agreement. Then, suddenly, the magnitude of what had just happened hit him and he began to hyperventilate...painfully.

"Hey, calm down, Tim. It's okay. It's over now."

Tim closed his eyes, wheezing still. He felt Tony put his arm around his shoulders. There was a sound of the elevator dinging.

"Ducky, over here!"

Tim hunched his shoulders and continued taking the noisy, gasping breaths that seemed to be all he could manage.

"Timothy, open your eyes."

Tim shook his head.

"Yes, lad. Open your eyes. Look at me. It's all right. You're safe."

Reluctantly, Tim opened his eyes and looked at Ducky.

"Good. Now, just focus on me for a few moments. You'll be all right. You hear me?"

Tim nodded.

"Good. Don't try to talk. Looking at your throat, I'm sure that will be painful. Just calm down and breathe...as normally as you can."

Tim managed a smile and he began to calm down. Breathing still hurt, but not as badly as a few seconds before.

"Feeling better?"

Tim nodded.

"Excellent. Now, I'm going to want you to get checked out at a hospital, but for now, let's get you out of the foyer and into a room with a bit of privacy. Do you feel ready to stand?"

Tim nodded and allowed Tony and Henry to help him to his feet. He felt a bit dizzy, but other than that, he was all right.

The thought made him pause.

"What is it, Timothy?"

Tim looked down at his leg, at his hip. He pulled one of his arms off Tony's shoulder and gingerly reached down to touch his hip. He was sore, yes, but he was standing...after having fought for his life, after having kicked and held on with his legs. ...and he was standing.

"Is something wrong with your hip again?"

Tim looked up at Ducky.

"...no..." he croaked out. "No...it's...fine..." He rubbed at it again, almost _willing_ it to hurt. "It's fine."

Ducky smiled.

"That's wonderful to hear, lad. Come along. I think you deserve to rest for a while."

Tim nodded and walked forward, leaning on Tony a bit, but walking on his own two feet. He was still in a bit of a daze and didn't really pay attention to where they took him, but when Ducky instructed him to lie down on a couch, he was happy to do so.

"I'll sit here with you, lad. Just sleep for a while until they decide what to do with you."

Tim nodded and closed his eyes.

Sleep came almost instantly.


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter 12**

Tim came awake with a start and sat up, looking around frantically for a perceived threat. His breath still moved noisily and painfully through his trachea.

A hand on his shoulder startled him even more and he spun, ready to defend himself.

"Whoa. Calm down there, McGee," Gibbs said, smiling a little. "You only get to have one fight per day."

"How long...have I been...sleeping?"

"A few hours. Not long. It's fairly late."

"How much...longer will I be staying here?"

"Don't know yet. We're trying to decide if you're still in danger."

Tim grimaced and then coughed painfully.

"Throat still hurting?"

"Yeah..."

"Don't talk then. It's probably better if you just relax a bit. Ducky said you'd probably be waking up soon and he went to get you some ice."

Tim nodded. Ice sounded good. Whether it was for the outside or the inside of his throat, he figured he'd enjoy it.

Gibbs sat down.

"It...was the...same guy," Tim rasped.

Gibbs rolled his eyes. "Stop trying to talk, McGee. We kind of figured. He was going after you?"

Tim opened his mouth.

"Just nod, McGee."

Tim shook his head. Gibbs raised an eyebrow.

"Then, what did he–?"

Tim pulled the flash drive out of his pocket and held it up.

"He...knew I had...a backup somewhere."

"McGee..." Gibbs began.

Tim shook his head and plowed on. "I...told him...it was in my...apartment. He was going to take me there...and then, kill me. I...had to stop him."

"Well, you impressed Henry."

"How?"

Gibbs chuckled. "According to him you have better moves than any wrestler...and I saw myself when we got there. It took a hit to the throat to get you to let go of him. It was impressive."

"I was scared...out of my...wits...Boss."

"That doesn't surprise me, but it doesn't change the fact that what you managed to do was impressive. You kept him from getting away. You signaled Henry in advance so that he wasn't taken by surprise...and you fought back, McGee. You fought back against someone who scared you. That's important."

Tim looked at Gibbs and then away.

"My...My hip doesn't hurt," Tim whispered.

"What?"

He looked back, almost afraid to say it aloud, for fear that it would mean he was wrong.

"What did you say, Tim?"

"My hip...it doesn't hurt. I did all that...and it...I'm sore...but I'm not...hurt."

Gibbs stared at him for a moment and then smiled. Whatever he might have said was cut off by Ducky's return.

"Timothy, it appears that those in authority are still deciding whether or not it's safe to move you outside the building. So I will do my best to help ease your pain until we can ensure that no serious damage has been done to you."

Ducky handed Tim a glass full of crushed ice. Tim took a few chips and put them in his mouth. His throat was dry as well as sore and the coolness soothed his aching throat.

"Better?"

Tim nodded.

"Does my...throat look as...bad as it feels?"

"Not yet, but I dare say that if you give it a few days, it will adequately represent how you must feel. I think you should try to avoid talking as much as possible until it hurts less."

Tim smiled. "Too...much to say...I guess." Then, he sobered. "What's...going to...to happen to...him?"

"He tried to abduct and kill a federal agent," Gibbs said. "Lots of witnesses. No question that he attacked you."

"And what about..."

"Still your call," Gibbs said.

"Too bad," Tim said and tried to smile. Instead, he winced and put a few more ice chips in his mouth and then rubbed at his throat.

"Take your time and don't push it. If this is the only guy after you, we have time."

"If..."

Ducky sat down beside Tim.

"Don't worry about it all just yet, Timothy. You have enough on your plate at the moment and you are as safe as we can make you."

"How...safe is that?"

Gibbs smiled. "Safer than you were before."

"Okay."

"Are you tired?" Ducky asked.

Tim thought about it...and then shook his head. He was pretty awake now. He'd probably lose his energy pretty quickly, but for the moment, he was alert.

"What would you like to do?"

The decision he still had to make pressed in on his mind and he took as deep a breath as he could without wincing.

"I...need to think for...awhile. Okay?"

"That's fine. Would you like some solitude?"

Tim nodded. Ducky patted Tim on the back and stood.

"Understandable. If you decide you would like company just give the sign."

"Someone will be keeping an eye on the room," Gibbs added.

Tim nodded in appreciation. He watched them leave and began sucking on more of the crushed ice. It seemed to be helping a bit. At least it was calming the dryness and it might even be helping his pain a little.

Still, he had bigger problems than a sore throat. He still had a decision to make, a difficult decision. ...and yet, it wasn't really a decision anymore. He knew what he had to do now. He knew what remained and he knew that, although he was being given a choice, he didn't really have much of a choice. Coming face to face with that man had loosened something inside him, something he had considered to be intractable. Now, he could feel it slipping away, slipping through his fingers. The feeling, the certainty, it was leaving him. He couldn't lean on it any longer.

He pulled the flash drive out of his pocket and looked at it, turning it over and over in his hands. Such a small thing to be killed for.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"_So, come on, McGee!" Johnson prodded._

"_What?" Tim asked._

"_You know! You're an agent. You let it slip out at that panel and you just know that everyone in that room wanted to ask you the same question."_

"_What question?" Tim asked. "I really don't know what you're talking about."_

_Davidson rolled his eyes. "You know. We're all geeks here. Johnson and I rarely even see the light of day. What's it like?"_

_Tim smiled. "Daylight? Well, there's this thing called the _sun_ and it..."_

_Larson laughed. "Ah, tell 'em, McGee. They're never going to leave you alone if you don't."_

"_What's the specific question?"_

"_Your life is on the line every day," Johnson said. "What's that like?"_

"_You don't really think about it."_

"_I would be," she countered. "All the time. Some guy could come bursting into view with guns blazing and start shooting at you. The worst I'll have to deal with is a firewall."_

"_Really, you don't think about it. You can't. If you start worrying about whether or not you're going to be killed that day...you'll never be able to do anything. It's just not practical."_

_Keating laughed. "You're such a geek, McGee. I spent a few months as an agent...and I was glad to go back to Cybercrimes. I _did_ think about it...especially after Langer."_

_Tim nodded. "When someone does die, you think about it. A lot. I did when one of my teammates died, but mostly...you just go to work assuming that everything will be okay...and usually, it is."_

"_And when it's not?" Davidson asked, arching an eyebrow._

"_When it's not...you can at least take comfort in the fact that you'll almost never have to face it alone."_

_There was a pause._

"_And what if you _are_ alone?" Larson asked quietly._

_Tim looked at him, wondering what was really going through his head._

"_If you are...then, you try to find a way that you won't be. Otherwise, you just have to face it as best you can...and hope you survive."_

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

It was after midnight when they finally took Tim to the hospital to be checked over. He was taken under guard, but there was no sign of any danger. The doctor checked him over thoroughly and said that, while there was definitely some bruising and he'd be sore and hoarse for a few days, maybe a week, there was no permanent damage. Even better, there was no damage to his hip. The doctor on duty recommended that Tim see his physical therapist, but confirmed that he could detect no extra damage to Tim's ilium or to his hip socket.

After that, he didn't return to NCIS. Instead, Gibbs took him, again under guard, to his house. Tony and Ziva came along on guard duty and two agents were outside. Tim was sent to the spare room to sleep. He had intended to think more about what he still had to do, but as soon as his head hit the pillow, he was down for the count. Too much had happened in the past couple of days...so much that the days seemed to have lasted for months just in and of themselves.

...and he was so tired...

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

_Three days later..._

Tim came down the stairs. It was late. He'd allowed himself the luxury of sleeping in while he recovered from everything. His throat was still extremely sore and the bruise was now very obvious. His voice was still hoarse, but he'd had some improvements.

More importantly, he'd made an important decision and it was time to implement it. He had wanted to wait until his voice was back to normal, but it was looking like that was going to take some time and he couldn't put this off any longer. It had to be done, no matter how much he hated it. It was a necessity now.

Gibbs was making a smoothie, of all things. Tim had learned to become close friends with anything liquid, anything soft while his throat recovered. Smoothies had turned out to be great because they were cool and didn't have any sharp edges. Gibbs had surprised him by owning a blender. Tim didn't know _why_ that surprised him particularly, but it had, and watching him actually _using_ it was extremely entertaining for some reason.

Gibbs look up as Tim sat down at the table.

"Better?"

Tim shrugged. He'd learned the art of mute eloquence over the past few days, speaking as little as possible to save himself more pain. Gibbs smiled and set the smoothie in front of him without comment. Tim drank it, hoping that one day he could return to solid foods. This wasn't _awful_, but it did get boring. After he finished, he looked at the empty glass and then pulled the flash drive from his pocket and set it on the table.

"What is it, McGee?" Gibbs asked.

"I need to talk to Fornell," Tim said in his hoarse voice. "Can you get him over here? Or me over there? Either way. I need to talk to him."

"About that?"

Tim nodded. "This and more."

"I'll get him over here."

"Thanks, Boss."

Gibbs merely nodded and got to his feet. Tim picked up the flash drive again and examined it closely. It was so small...and yet so important. Everything that had consumed him for the last year was right there in his hands.

"He's on his way," Gibbs said. "You sure about this?"

Tim looked up and smiled. "No...but it has to be done and I can't put it off anymore."

"You want me here or gone?"

Tim considered the options for a moment and then gave a half smile.

"Gone, please. This is between Fornell and me...but I'll tell you after. Is that all right, Boss?"

Gibbs nodded. "I'll be down in the basement."

"Thanks, Boss."

Gibbs merely grunted and left Tim in the kitchen.

Tim had time to kill so he went back upstairs and changed into something nicer. A lot of his clothes had been ruined, but some items had been salvageable and he was grateful for that much.

Then, there was a knock at the door.

"Agent McGee, it's Fornell!"

Tim smiled at the precaution and opened the door.

"Agent Fornell," he said hoarsely.

"Man, kid, you sound terrible."

"This is an improvement," Tim said with a smile. "Come in."

"I'd heard you'd been in a fight, but no one mentioned being strangled."

"It was the elbow to the throat that hurt more than the strangling."

"I'll take your word for it."

Tim gestured for Fornell to sit.

"What's this about, McGee?"

Tim took a breath and steeled himself.

"It's about why someone almost killed me...and what the FBI is going to do about it."


	13. Chapter 13

**Chapter 13**

Fornell raised his eyebrows.

"You think the FBI has something to do with that guy NCIS arrested?"

"No, I don't. ...but I know he has something to do with your case. So...what are they going to do about him?"

"In what respect?"

"He was coming after me because of what I'd found out. He wanted the flash drive, my backups. There were loads of witnesses to what he did to me. If this goes to trial, getting a motive will lead us _right_ where the FBI doesn't want to go. So...what are they going to do? You can't tell me they haven't considered it already. It's been three days."

Fornell looked at him.

"Agent Fornell..."

"Tobias."

"What?"

"Call me Tobias. After all this, I don't think we need to stand on ceremony."

Tim smiled a little. "Okay...Tobias. What are they going to do?"

"They won't let this come out."

"I figured. He going to disappear?"

"No. Likely not. Too many witnesses."

"So...a guilty plea?"

"Maybe. Probably."

"How will they do that?"

"Don't ask me questions you don't really want the answers to, Tim."

Tim gave a half smile. "All right.

"What are _you_ going to do?" Fornell returned.

"That depends."

"On what?"

Tim cleared his throat and took a drink from his omnipresent water bottle.

"On whether or not you can give me some guarantees."

"Such as?"

"I can't live the rest of my life as a target. If the FBI is going to make this guy go away somewhere, they need to make it clear to this group that I'm not a threat."

"_Are_ you a threat?"

"Right now, I am. I still have my flash drive. I'm still alive...and even though they've destroyed almost everything I own and nearly killed me again...I'm still alive and I'm still very much aware of who they are and what they've done."

"And you want their awareness of that fact to go away?"

"Yes. If I'd been alone, I'd be dead. I can't deal with this kind of thing for long."

Fornell looked at him soberly and Tim took another drink.

"What do you propose?"

"I don't know. This is only one guy who came after me. If they can make it look as though I've accepted that he's a crazy guy after me rather than part of a terrorist cell, fine."

"Really?"

"No. It's not fine, but it has to be done."

Tim pulled the flash drive out of his pocket, looked at it for a few seconds and then handed it over to Fornell. Fornell's eyes widened slightly as he took it.

"Do you realize what you're doing by giving this thing to me?"

"I'm saying that I'm not going to pursue it anymore. I'm saying that I'm okay with this all vanishing into the ether as if it never happened."

"So...by giving me this, you're lying."

"There's a condition."

"You already gave me that."

"No. There's another one...and this one is more important."

"What?"

"Promise me that when you take these...these guys down that you'll get them for the murder of my friends, too. They weren't just geeks like people think they were. _We're_ not just geeks. They gave their lives because of their occupation. They never knew it. They never knew that it would be required of them, but they did it...and if they'd had the choice, they would have been willing. Their deaths deserve to be known as more than just the random work of a mad man. So when you take these guys down..." Tim took a breath and swallowed hard. "...when that happens, you make sure that the nation knows about the four people who died first, whose lives were allowed to fade into obscurity for the safety of the country. If you guarantee me that, I'm done...and I'll content myself with hoping that you can stop them in time."

"That's enough for you? Are you sure of that?"

Tim smiled bitterly. "No, it's not enough, but it has to be because I can't keep doing this, and I can't put my own desire for vengeance ahead of the safety of hundreds, maybe even thousands of others. I don't like it...but I need to do it."

Fornell was silent.

"This is what you wanted, isn't it? This is what the FBI wants, me to give up...and I'm ready to do that."

"Really?"

"Yes."

Fornell looked at the flash drive and then at Tim.

"It _is_ what the FBI wants. It's _not_ what I want...but you're right, Tim. This is really the only way it can go. I'll pass along your conditions..._before_ I tell them I have your backup copy. It might be an iffy few weeks, but we'll get the monkeys off your back...and I'll make sure that the other techs get acknowledged. Larson...I'd want him to get some credit in any case, but the others as well."

"Thanks, Tobias."

Fornell stood up. "I'll let you know what they say. Is this really your only copy?"

Tim nodded. "Unless, by some miracle, they left the hard copy in the bank."

"They didn't."

"Then, that's the only copy. If I have it at all, I won't be able to stop looking at it."

Fornell nodded and then turned to leave. He stopped and looked back.

"You know what, Tim? I lied."

"About what?" Tim asked, his brow furrowing in confusion.

"This _is_ what I want."

"What is?"

Fornell smiled and held up the flash drive. "When a cop gets obsessed with a case, no matter what kind of cop he is, no matter what kind of case it is, personal or otherwise...when the obsession happens, the only way to break the obsession is to let the cop break it himself. No matter how much I wanted to, I couldn't have stopped you from working on this. So I helped you out as much as I could. I wanted you to see for yourself that it needed to end. Now, even though I can see that you're not happy about it, that you hate it, that you'll always want more from all this, even with all that, you're done. You've broken your own obsession. You ended the story yourself...just like you fought off a would-be killer yourself."

Tim stared at him in surprise.

"The dead are going to stay dead, Tim. No matter what happens, no matter what truth does or does not come out, they'll be dead. I'm a lot more concerned with keeping the living alive than I am with honoring the dead. So I have what I want. The chance to honor the dead, but more than that, I'm helping to keep you alive...and you've taken the steps to ensure it yourself."

"If you wanted me to quit, why did you say the opposite?"

"Because you wouldn't have listened to the truth until you were ready to hear it. By agreeing with you, I stayed on your good side and could at least know what you were doing and where you were going. The FBI wouldn't have cared about any of that. They have to look at the big picture. I'm supposed to, but I don't usually. They didn't care about your well-being. They didn't care about what you needed. So I made sure you at least had the time to work through it."

"You're...pretty devious, Tobias."

Fornell grinned. "I have to be to stay ahead of young guys like you."

Tim laughed and then winced and coughed.

"I'm sorry that it had to end this way, though. I wish you could have got what you wanted."

Tim sat back on the couch. "Maybe I just needed to change what it was I really wanted."

"Maybe. Sorry about your apartment."

"Yeah...me, too. It's going to suck trying to get everything worked out with my insurance. I've already been making lists of everything that was destroyed, but really...a lot of it I'm just going to have to write off. I can give a value to my computer, to my furniture, even to some of my books, but how am I going to replace the textbooks I took notes in? How am I going to track down all the records I'd collected over the years? Some are long out of print, and people don't really make records anymore. It sucks, but ...I have to be realistic about it. I've lost a lot...and I brought it on myself." Tim shrugged. "...but at least I can stop it before more people get hurt."

"That's one way to look at it, but you certainly didn't deserve it."

"No, but it still happened. At least I have insurance and can replace some of my things."

Fornell only nodded and left. Tim rested his head on the back of the couch and listened as Gibbs ran up the basement steps. When he came into the room, he didn't say anything. He just sat down. Tim didn't move.

"I gave him the flash drive. It's over."

"Really?"

"Yes. He said it might take some time, but they'll work on making it appear that I have nothing to offer...so I can start rebuilding my life...what's left of it anyway. Thanks for letting me stay here."

"No problem. Is this what you want?"

"No, but it's what I have and I can accept it."

"You sure?"

"Yes. It had to end sometime. Now it has." Tim sat up and looked at Gibbs, forcing a smile onto his face. "Something good came out of this."

"What?"

"I'm not afraid of my injury anymore...but I'm a little tired. I think I'll go and rest for a while."

Tim thought that there was something far too knowing in Gibbs' eyes, but he ignored it and went upstairs. He lay down on the bed and tried not to think about what he'd done.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Fornell was standing his ground. They kept trying to talk around what he had to say, but he refused to back down this time. Finally, he lost his patience.

"This man is a federal agent. He has been trying to get at the truth because that's his job. It's _our_ job, too, last I checked. He now understands the scope of what's going on and has expressed his willingness to go along with our secrecy. That deserves _something_, not a runaround for things we'll need to do anyway."

There was a pause, and Fornell could see he had made them think. He pressed his advantage.

"This is not a man you want hating you. He's an idealist and he wants to believe that people like us want what's best, not just what's expedient. He's not asking for credit. He's not asking for anything but safety and a little compassion when we can give it."

Finally, Fornell pulled the flash drive out of his pocket.

"This is everything he had. He gave it to me. There are no other backups. Agent McGee wants this to end and he's willing to let us have the time to end it."

He tossed the drive to the man opposite him.

"Do your job," he said and then spun on his heel and walked out of the room.

As he stalked back toward his desk, his phone rang. He looked at who it was from and sighed.

"What." Then, he paused. His pace slowed and then increased. "Yes. Yes, that sounds like an excellent idea. I'll see what I can do."

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

_Three weeks later..._

Tim looked around his new apartment. He could have waited to go back to his old one, but it was a bit small...with or without Jethro...and while he would miss some of his neighbors, he couldn't help but acknowledge that he'd probably never feel fully safe in there again. This apartment actually had some security. There had been no sign of anyone coming after him...so he figured the FBI had done what he'd asked.

Yes, things were looking up, but he was still a little depressed about how it had all fallen out. Right now, it was mostly about the lack of personality in his new apartment. He hadn't yet been able to get a replacement for his typewriter although there were a couple on eBay he had his eye on. He had a lot of new books, but some were lost forever. The computer was new...and he hadn't yet amassed a new store of old computer parts, although that would come. He had all new furniture, new bookshelves...which weren't as full as he'd like. He had a _lot_ of new clothes. His record collection...what record collection. The records that had actually not been burned or turned to ashes had been so scratched up that, even if his record player had survived the blast, he wouldn't have been able to play them.

_Bombs really suck,_ Tim thought to himself.

Everyone had helped him move in, helped him shop for new clothes (mostly Abby but Tony got his word in...quite a few words, actually), helped him get furniture, helped him figure out the most ideal arrangement of his things in the new place (which he had almost instantly changed). Things were looking up in his therapy as well. As bad as things had been, he had made big strides in coming to accept his ability and his healing. He wasn't perfect yet, but he was better.

And yet...

Tim sighed and patted Jethro on the head. This just didn't feel like home.

There was a knock at the door and Tim smiled. Tonight was his "house-warming" party, only everyone else was bringing stuff. He wasn't providing any of the food. They said it wasn't right for him to have to try and feed Tony.

"Probie! We come bearing...well, not gifts, but food!" Tony announced as soon as Tim opened the door.

"I can see that," Tim said. "Come on in."

Tony came in, followed by Ziva and Abby and Jimmy, all of whom had some sort of food item. A few minutes later, Ducky arrived with some wine. Gibbs came last...without food, but...

"Here, McGee," he said, lugging in a small side table. It was simple, with dark wood and clean lines.

"Wow, Boss...it's really nice. You didn't...I mean, I don't have enough stuff to fill up the spaces I already have."

"You'll see."

Tim furrowed his brow, but was happy enough to accept the gift. He didn't know where he'd put it; so he set it by his couch.

"Well, let's eat before the food gets cold!" Tony said.

There was a chorus of agreement, and they all sat down to eat.

It was an hour later when Tim's buzzer went off. He couldn't imagine who else would be coming; so he went over with a little apprehension.

"Yeah?"

"_Agent McGee."_

"Fornell?"

"_Got it in one."_

"What are you doing here?"

"_Can I come up? Or are you going to interrogate me through your intercom?"_

Tim laughed and buzzed him in. "Come on up."

"What's Fornell doing here?" Tony asked.

"Did _you_ invite him, Gibbs?" Abby asked.

Gibbs just smiled and didn't answer.

There was a knock...or rather a kick at the door. Tim hurried over and opened the door. He froze in the doorway, mouth open.

Fornell stood there smiling knowingly...holding a record player and a pile of records in his arms.

"They left me with the heavy lifting as punishment for working with the FBI. Can I come in?"

Tim couldn't speak as he stood aside.

"Where's that table, Gibbs?" he demanded.

"It's right here," Gibbs said, picking up the table and moving it near an outlet.

Fornell set the record player on the table and then handed the records to Tim who was still standing by the open door.

"Close your mouth, kid. You'll let the flies in."

"You...didn't..."

"Well, not by myself. I did have help."

"It wasn't even your idea!" Abby said.

"Doesn't matter whose idea it was," Tim said, finally finding his voice. "I...don't know what to say."

"We did not know the names of all the records you owned," Ziva said. "We had to guess."

"I was able to procure a few from some friends of mine," Ducky said. "The others were found in various venues."

"It doesn't matter," Tim said again, flipping through the records. Most weren't records he'd owned, but that didn't matter either. "Thank you." He looked up. "Thank you so much." He looked at Tony. "You willing to suffer through some of my music?"

Tony grinned. "Sure...for one night."

Tim laughed and put on a record. "I think this one will be okay."

There was a bit of scratching as he moved the needle, but in moments, Frank Sinatra was serenading them. They all applauded and started talking. Tim met Fornell's gaze and for just a minute, they spoke alone.

"You're safe," he said. "Well, as safe as we can make you."

"And the other?"

"Progressing. You'll know when the world knows."

"I understand. Thanks for the records...Tobias."

"Least I could do. You lost a lot of stuff."

"Yeah...but this...tonight... This place finally feels a bit like home."

Fornell smiled. "My pleasure, Tim."

"Hey, Probie, why don't you listen to _this_ when you're trying to write? Why that fake jazz?"

Tim laughed. "When I get my new typewriter, I'll try out Frank Sinatra," he said and rejoined the group.

Fornell only stayed for about half an hour more before excusing himself from the party. Tim thanked him profusely as he left and then returned to the group. The party broke up a couple of hours later. Tim tried to send leftovers with them, but he ended up with most of the extra food. Abby and Ziva both kissed him good night. Tony howled and then slapped Tim on the back. Gibbs brushed off Tim's thanks and told him to enjoy his new place. Jimmy waved good night and then Ducky headed out.

"Ducky?"

"Yes, Timothy?"

"Thanks."

"For what in particular?"

"Just for...everything."

"You've thanked us all quite a bit already."

"Yeah...but I need to. I haven't really done that up to now. Thanks."

"You're welcome. Is this new apartment feeling better?"

Tim nodded. "It'll take some time to be my home, but I think it's getting there."

"You have the time."

"Yeah."

Ducky squeezed Tim's arm. "You can miss them, Timothy, but don't let your regret ruin your chances for happiness."

"It won't. I just want the story to really be over. It doesn't feel over yet."

"It will end...eventually."

Tim nodded and closed the door after Ducky left. Then, he sat down by Jethro who had retreated to the bedroom.

"It's been a good night, Jethro. Welcome home."

Then, he got ready for bed and went to sleep.


	14. Epilogue

**Epilogue**

_One year later..._

Tim's phone started ringing as he was trying to get his keys out of his pocket...with both arms full of groceries, Jethro weaving excitedly around his legs...and a locked door in front of him. He struggled to get the key in the lock but the phone stopped ringing before he succeeded. Quickly, he opened the door, set the groceries down, tossed his keys on the counter and pulled out his phone.

_One missed call._

He looked at the ID, but nothing came up. So it wasn't a person he worked with and it wasn't someone else...or some random guy dialing a wrong number. ...well, it _could_ be someone dialing a wrong number.

His phone started ringing again. He answered on the first ring.

"McGee," he said.

"_Watch the news tomorrow morning. On ZNN. It'll be there."_

"Tobias?" he asked.

"_ZNN."_

Then, there was a click and Tim stared at his phone in surprise. That had definitely been Fornell. What was _it_?

Then, suddenly, he knew what _it_ had to be. Slowly, he set his phone down and then sank onto a chair.

Tomorrow morning. That meant they were sitting on the release. How they had managed to do that was beyond his ken, but they had. Absently, his hand moved to his hip and he began to rub the scars he knew were still there.

Tomorrow.

He didn't really do anything for the rest of the night.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Tim woke up early the next morning and turned on the TV, tuning in to ZNN.

He only had to wait for about ten minutes.

"_In breaking news, the FBI has released reports about an armed takedown of a domestic terror cell based in Los Angeles. The group allegedly had plans to destroy the United States Courthouse in Los Angeles as a protest of corruption in government. Matthias Terreton is on scene outside the FBI office in LA."_

"_Thanks, Lisa. The plans for this takedown go back three years when..."_

Tim stared in avid fascination, not noticing the passage of time. He listened to the story of this group as they had developed and grown. ...but that wasn't what he cared about most. There was only one thing he wanted to hear.

There was a knock on his door as he watched, and he stood up only reluctantly, walking backwards to the door. When he got there, he looked through the peephole, remembering belatedly that no one was supposed to get in without being buzzed in by him. Then, he opened the door, revealing Fornell.

"It's on," he said unnecessarily.

"They say it yet?"

He shook his head.

"Go on back to it, then. It'll come."

Tim didn't wait. He went back and sat down in front of the TV, barely noticing when Fornell joined him. The history completed and the actual takedown explained, the newscaster in the studio began to ask some seemingly-extemporaneous questions.

"_This group seems to have been working on these things for a long time, Matthias."_

"_They have. Allegedly, they're responsible for a plane crash two years ago. Members of various federal agencies were on their way back from a conference here in LA when an alleged member of this group tried to crash the plane in order to stop them from giving information to the FBI about their movements. He failed to do that, but four people on the plane were killed trying to stop him."_

"_I remember that. It was said to be the work of one man."_

"_Yes, but the FBI now is claiming that he was a part of this group and the deaths were due to their intention to take down parts of the U.S. government."_

"_What does that mean for these people?"_

"_Well, I asked FBI spokesman, John Miles, about that very thing, and he says that they were heroes. The public just didn't know that, and now their sacrifices can be revealed."_

"_I'm sure that's some comfort to their families. Thank you, Matthias in LA. I'm sure you'll have more information for us."_

"_Lots more as the day goes on, Lisa."_

Tim reached out and turned off the TV.

"That enough, Tim?" Fornell asked.

Tim smiled. "Almost."

"It'll never be really enough, you know."

"I know. I try not to think about it much."

"Good. Don't."

"Easier said than done."

"I know."

"How?"

"You think you're the first person to be obsessed about getting justice?"

Tim was quiet for a moment.

"How did you get over it?"

"Day by day. That's all you can do."

Tim looked at his watch. "I'm going to be late."

"Yep. You can blame it on me. Gibbs wouldn't be surprised."

Tim laughed. "He'd know I was lying."

"Sure, but he wouldn't mind laying the blame on me. My last act as an FBI agent."

Tim turned to Fornell in surprise. "What?"

"Retirement. Thank goodness. I stayed on a bit longer than I'd planned originally, but now I'm ready. I'm giving my notice as soon as I can."

Fornell met Tim's concerned gaze and just grinned mischievously.

"Thank you, Tobias."

"My pleasure. You'd better get to work...and so should I. I don't want to give my bosses any excuse to cut off my funds...or at least no more excuses than I've already given them."

Fornell got up easily and walked to the door. He paused and looked back.

"Take it from one who knows, kid. You've got more than a lot of people get. Let it go."

"I'll work on it."

"As long as you do that, you'll succeed." He walked out the door.

Tim stared at the closed door for a long moment and then he took a breath and finished getting ready for work. He pet Jethro and, on his way out the door, called the walker and let her know that he hadn't had a chance to walk Jethro at all; so he'd be extra frisky today.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"Probie's late!" Tony announced when Tim got off the elevator.

"Fornell's fault," Tim said in return.

"Fornell? Why?" Ziva asked.

"He stopped by my apartment. Distracted me."

"Doing what?"

Tim shrugged and pointed to ZNN which was rerunning the story from that morning. Tony and Ziva both looked at it for a few seconds and then back at him.

"You all right, McGee?" Tony asked.

"Yeah."

"Are you sure?" Ziva asked.

"Positive. I'm not...great, but I'm okay. This is what I wanted."

"Not really."

"Close enough...and since I'm late, I'm sure I have work to do."

"Always work to do," Gibbs said, breezing through the bullpen. He paused right by Tim. "This works for you?" he asked in a low voice.

"Yeah. Yeah, it does. Maybe in a few months, I'll be able to say that and really mean it."

Gibbs smiled briefly and then continued on with the day. No one mentioned it at all the rest of the day (well, Abby did, but only for a moment)...and Tim liked it that way. It was better not to dwell on it. He was glad to have some resolution, but he needed to move on.

After work, the others persuaded him to join them for drinks even though he wanted to go home. He enjoyed himself for a while and then extricated himself from their well-meaning clutches. He went back to his apartment, fawned over Jethro for a while to make up for neglecting him earlier.

Then, he went to his computer and opened up a file. It was one he'd avoided for quite some time, knowing that there could easily be a negative effect on him if he focused on it.

It was a folder of pictures. Not many. Just a few from the conference. Johnson, being the newbie she was, had brought a camera along and insisted that they pose at various moments. Then, she had emailed them to everyone. Tim had opened them and promptly filed them away. Out of sight. Out of mind. Now, he opened them and flipped through, smiling as he remembered their antics.

He stopped on one, a picture of the five DC geeks. There they were, grinning like idiots at someone who'd been willing to take their picture. Tim had thought it silly at the time, but now...

...now, he was glad he had the pictures.

"It's over, guys," he said softly. "It's finally over."

...and it was. The story was finished as far as Tim was concerned. It still wasn't ever going to be what he really wanted, but it was what it had to be...

The end.

FINIS!


End file.
